


The Devil is in the Details

by ElizabethLucy



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018), Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26344648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethLucy/pseuds/ElizabethLucy
Summary: The Dark Lord has a new request of the Church of Night.
Relationships: Faustus Blackwood/Zelda Spellman
Comments: 184
Kudos: 201





	1. Prologue

He laughs, or it’s an exhale of breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, he hopes the Dark Lord reads it as an exhale.

“So, you shall make it happen. Directly from me, to the coven. This will be spread far and wide from the church of shadows to other covens. You are responsible for yours.”

Faustus has no choice in the matter. As a student he craved being the right hand warlock of Satan himself, but now, standing here, he realizes he had wished for something else.

“I understand.” He nods solemnly, and cannot help himself when he adds, “I will hand down your direction. Though the Spellmans will resist.”

The Dark Lord laughs. “If they defy me then they will be appropriately punished. As will you, Faustus.”

He still had his reservations but this wasn’t a conversation as so much a direction. There was no room for argument, no room for discussion. Faustus’s stomach churned with the news. The new direction for the coven, for his entire church, his entire religion zapped him of any sense of loyalty. He felt like he was standing alone, and suddenly he was, as the flames lit up the room and Lucifer vanished.


	2. The Old Ways

—

She walks efficiently to the front of the church, Hilda trailing behind her, Sabrina hand in hand with her, Ambrose, of course, still house-bound. She steps in the first pew, the rest of the family filing past her as she sits on the aisle waiting to hear just what this news is. She had been in the middle of an embalming and then suddenly had to hand things over to Ambrose so she could get ready for this surprise announcement. There was no time to waste. The Spellmans were on perilous grounds already with Sabrina defying the Dark Lord and refusing to sign the Book of the Beast. Every single Spellman has their name written in that very unholy grimoire. All except Sabrina. 

Zelda clutched her hands to her handbag, hoping this little announcement had nothing to do with Sabrina, nothing to do with the Spellmans. She’d say a prayer if she thought it would help — she didn’t.

Sabrina still held hands with Hilda and Zelda reminded herself to say something about it later. If Sabrina wanted to make grown up decisions, like refusing to sign her name, then she could act like an adult and stop holding her Auntie Hilda’s hand at church.

Her head snapped up as she heard Father Blackwood’s shoes and cane click on the floor of the altar. He looked grim, serious. Zelda braced herself for bad news as she stood with the rest of the congregation.

“Brethren, please sit. Thank you all for assembling on such short notice.”

The coven was as quiet as could be, as Father Blackwood continued to speak.

“The Dark Lord revealed himself to me and has told me that we must return to the old ways. We’ve lost sight of what our goal here is.”

Zelda now felt like reaching for both Sabrina’s and Hilda’s hand but she was too ashamed of needing comfort in their touch. She gripped her bag tighter. 

“Our Dark Lord has asked that we no longer ritualistically sacrifice a witch from this coven for our great Feast of Feasts. We are a dying kind, we no longer can offer up a child of night.”

The congregation breathed a sigh of relief, until Father Blackwood held up a finger, “However, he has asked that we return to marrying. We have for too long sowed our wild oats, few children remain in the Church of Night. We lose congregants from this coven to every year to other larger covens, our elders have died off. If we don’t re-establish the old ways, there will be nothing left of our great church. Few of us marry, few of us have children. This will be a turning point in our coven, to once again grow our Church, grow our coven, and dedicate ourselves fully to Satan himself. Praise Satan.”

The coven met the High Priest’s Praise Satan with their own — though far less enthused. Zelda, too, was too far in her thoughts to properly pretend this news was anything but terrible.

Father Blackwood continued, “A witch or warlock from each family will be required to marry. You will have until the end of the month. Anyone of age to sign the Book of the Beast is in contention to marry. Like the Feast of Feasts, the choice will be up to each family. And…,” Father Blackwood paused, “in accordance with the old ways, there will be no dissolution of marriages. Please see me if you have any further questions.” He smiled, and Zelda thought it looked rather forced. 

She turned her head to see both Hilda and Sabrina as pale as could be. Blackwood dismissed them all, and Zelda walked quietly home, arm in arm with Hilda and Sabrina, each lost in their own thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue was quite short, so I thought I would post this ahead of schedule. If you are following along or read this story, please comment. It helps my writing process to know that people are reading it and into it, otherwise I’m writing for the void, which makes it much harder. Xx


	3. Decisions

Ambrose, still in his lab coat, was making tea and setting out a tray of biscuits for them all as each took their respective seats. He was in a cheery mood, a smile plastered on his face. He was always so pleased to live vicariously and receive more news of the outside world. Zelda felt like cursing him but instead she lit a cigarette, and busied herself with inhaling a large drag of smoke and holding it inside until it burned deliciously in her lungs.

“So? Why do you all look so down? Did Father Blackwood threaten Sabrina again?” He turned to Sabrina, “What have you done now?” He clapped a hand to her shoulder and wriggled her about.

Sabrina turned haughty like her aunt, “This one actually isn’t about me.” Zelda smirked briefly, finding her own haughty expression dancing across Sabrina’s face. 

The smirk evaporated quickly as she spoke, “Actually, Sabrina, this was about you, because you refused to sign The Book of the Beast. You’ve paraded your mortality around the Academy, name unsigned, and the Dark Lord continues to punish all of us for your transgression.”

She flicked the ash from her cigarette in the ashtray, “He thinks this will force your hand, He wants you to marry.” Zelda herself was incensed but she used the walk back home to scheme. 

Sabrina and Hilda were outraged, shocked faces stared back at her and Zelda looked to Ambrose, “The Dark Lord is requiring each family to give up a family member to marriage.” She looked around at the lot of them. 

“But I’m only sixteen,” Sabrina huffed out. 

Zelda felt the same way but instead said, “He doesn’t care. If you’re old enough to sign the Book of the Beast then you’re old enough to marry. It’s different for witches.”

“The Dark Lord is counting on this to get you to sign your name. If you are married then you must sign your name in the Book. You’re not allowed to marry unless your name is in that Book. He assumes you’ll want to marry that young warlock at the Academy.”

“But I barely know Nick! We’re just friends!” Sabrina practically screamed. 

“The Dark Lord doesn’t understand modesty, he assumes you’ll do this to save your family, marry this smitten warlock, and sign your name and He can take his hold over you.”

Hilda is awfully quiet and Zelda can practically feel the worry coming off of her in waves.

Zelda blew out a puff of smoke, “We certainly aren’t going to let you marry someone, but honestly you’ve put us all in a terrible position. There’s no going back.”

“Well I’m not going to bloody marry anyone either,” Ambrose says as he stirs his tea loudly, spoon clinking against the side.

“You’re exempt since you’re a criminal and on house arrest. You don’t really fall under the guidelines of coven business. Which leaves me...and your Aunt Hilda. Actually, I’m not even sure you qualify, Hildie, after being excommunicated so recently.” 

Zelda takes a rare moment to reach over to Hilda’s arm. She’s too quiet, “I will, of course, as head of the family, marry someone.” She knew Hilda, unlike her, had dreamt about her wedding, how she would find someone perfect for her, fall in love, and marry. Even if she were eligible, Zelda wouldn’t ask her to do this. No, the self-sacrifice of this was in her wheelhouse entirely. Zelda had no designs on marriage.

“I trust the Dark Lord is banking on my contempt for marriage, and that I would instead have my niece marry and sign the Book of the Beast. Which is what I had prayed for for the past sixteen years, however, I will not allow my niece to get caught up in some coven business when she’s not even entirely a witch to begin with, and I certainly won’t let a sixteen year old marry someone she barely knows. The Dark Lord despite all of His gifts and His wisdom knows nothing of family. He thought He could best us during your trial, and He thinks He can beat us again. How wrong He is.” Zelda smirked.

The table nodded, pepped up by Zelda’s talk, concerns reassured. 

A brave face is her best bet, because she truly cannot believe she, of all of them, must marry someone. 

Ambrose raises his tea cup, “To Auntie Zee,” and the others join in and clink their cups together. The toast felt more like a death sentence, but she’d rather this than burning in the Pit for all eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all of you who reading, commenting, and bookmarking. It’s really helped. So, as a thank you, another chapter — ahead of schedule. Xx


	4. Resolute

She’s brushing her hair at the vanity completely lost in thought. Her own ideas of marriage were squashed properly when she became old enough to understand her parents. They were the last generation to marry — required to marry. Too many unhappy warlocks and witches. Most children of that generation went off, unamused at the idea of spending their long life with one single witch or warlock. The Dark Lord eventually rescinded his decree — a break with the Puritan traditions of the mortals, and more free will, which he had promised. He liked to do that, promise things, not give them, or give them and take them away.

She thought of her parents, classically bitter towards one another, and often avoided one another as best they could. She couldn’t think of one couple in the entire coven those days that seemed to be a good match. Many marriages were still arranged by the head of the family. Which witch would make a good wife for this warlock, this family, this job. It was all too depressing to consider so Zelda simply never considered it. 

As a child her prayers to the Dark Lord and Lilith consisted of never settling down, and never settling. She wanted to see the world, learn all she could, speak at least a dozen languages, break curses, come up with more deadly ones, and enjoy life — which seemed to escape everyone stuck in Greendale. The same fate would not befall her, not Zelda Spellman. 

And yet, that’s exactly what she’s doing. Though, to be fair, she’s done all of the things she’s wanted to, and now it’s her duty to lead the family. She had her cake, savored it — licked every single morsel. To settle down in Greendale to take care and guide her niece was no hardship, but this? Marriage? She huffed out at the thought and sat her brush down. And then, in a quick flash, swiped every single perfume bottle off of her vanity in one swift movement. 

She snapped her fingers and everything was back in its proper place as Hilda entered the room. “Zelds? You alright? I thought I heard something.”

Zelda waved a hand as if to dismiss Hilda’s concern, “Just getting ready for bed.” She busied herself with her lotion, unable to look at Hilda, for fear of being found out. This was her burden to carry, for the family. It was her duty.

However, Hilda knew — she always knew, and Zelda turned to her, eyes glassy with unshed tears as Hilda set the glass of whisky on Zelda’s table.

“You don’t have to do this,” Hilda spoke in a serious tone, and Zelda wished she could disappear.

“You don’t have to be the one to marry. I know how much you hate the thought of it. I could talk to Father Blackwood about repenting and reverse my excommunication. I’m sure I could find someone and find happiness somewhere.”

Zelda wasn’t so sure. She sighed. “It has to be me. I know how much you love the idea of it — marrying. I want you to marry for all the right reasons.” She smiles tightly, “I would rather do this, and see your happiness, and Sabrina’s, come to fruition.”

It was absolutely true. She was not looking forward to this new vile edict but she would make this choice, this was their best bet. Her previous ardent devotion to the Dark Lord had slightly waned in the face of Sabrina’s trial but she was not about to cast Him over. She had devoted her life to Him — she owed her gifts to Him, and her long life. If she could not do this, then she was unworthy of all of them.

Hilda’s tears spilled over, and rested her hand in Zelda’s. Zelda felt instantly calmer, damn her sister and her talent for empathetic touch. But she very secretly relished it. Hilda tempered her. 

“Thank you, Hildie. I’m going to need all the help I can get with this. We have until the end of the month to find someone, come up with a plan, or both.”

Scheming was a Spellman trait, Sabrina came by it rightly so Zelda never had much ammunition to launch at her — she understood. 

So the two sisters stayed up, books scattered about the parlor, half forgotten tea cups and tumblers of whiskey laid about while they planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, and kudos, and those who bookmark. They help the writing process immensely, and so, with that, another chapter. Xx


	5. Letters

—

The planning was mostly for naught. Family trees and Social Registers were consulted and flagged. Various potential warlocks marked, then scratched out for the many myriad of reasons Zelda has always scratched warlocks out of her life. Each page that Hilda set aside now had a swooping scarlet mark as to the reasons why this one in particular was out of commission. The reasons varied from — lazy, disheveled dresser, loud talker, drinks too much, doesn’t drink enough. To ones that made Hilda blush, “too quiet during sex, not rough enough during sex, doesn’t spank, unskilled at cunnilingus.” Hilda blushed from head to toe and refused to read anymore. 

At this point the pile had grown tall. Zelda considered warlocks from other covens, in America and abroad. The list of possible suitors dwindled as Zelda thought of who exactly would move to Greendale because she surely would not move elsewhere, and leave her family at the mercy of the town, the coven, and seemingly, Satan Himself.

Ambrose walked into the mess, tripping over books while taking a bite out of his toast. 

Zelda rolled her eyes as crumbs fell from his mouth as he spoke, “Why don’t you just buy yourself some time? Maybe the Dark Lord would consider renouncing this if Sabrina signed the Book now, or say in a year? Give her a chance to see if this thing with this warlock Nick is going anywhere, and he can still have her name in His book, or she can decide to marry him.” 

Sabrina walked in, stacks of letters in her arms, “Marry who?” She sets them down in front of Zelda.”

“Marry Nick, so we don’t have to send our spinster aunt off to marriage,” Ambrose winked as he said it. Zelda, despite being unmarried, was the furthest thing from spinsterly.

“I barely know him! I just started at the Academy, he’s cute, that’s it. Besides I’m still with Harvey.”

“For now,” Zelda whispers as she hands a letter to Hilda to open for her. 

“I appreciate what you’re doing for us, Auntie. I do. But don’t forget, I never wanted to sign my name in the Book of the Beast, I had no choice whatsoever. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to get this figured out. I refuse to sit here and take it, I will fight back.”

Zelda felt similarly, but Sabrina had no idea what or just who she was dealing with. Sabrina was foolhardy, and had no experience with how their world worked. She supposes it’s her own fault, letting Sabrina indulge in the mortal world. But it’s not her place to bolster Sabrina in her efforts, it is her job to protect her.

“You’ll do no such thing, Sabrina. You will leave this with us. You will continue your studies at the Academy, take them seriously, learn all you can, and preferably with a smile on your face. Now leave, or you’ll be late for morning assembly.” Zelda flicked a hand at her and the front door slammed open; Sabrina huffed out, school bag in hand, and slammed it shut in equal force. 

Zelda grabbed a letter from the stack and as she slid her finger under the fold and cut herself on the paper. She was close to calling it a day already and slip into the bath, have a whiskey, and go to bed — nothing would improve the day.

“Zelda. It’s a marriage proposal. To Sabrina.” 

When Sabrina was small, and Zelda would bring her to coven meetings, the witches and warlocks would whisper vile things about her niece. And now suddenly she was a commodity. Zelda knew better, each and every one warlock who asked for her hand would gladly harm her niece for any favor from the Dark Lord. She supposed the same could be said for herself. No — she will not let her family be pawns in this scheme. She will do it, and suffer, if need be, in the face of protecting her family.

“Throw it away.” She opened the letter in her lap, another proposal. 

Hilda opened another letter — a proposal. And so it continued. Each one incensed Zelda. Every eligible member of the coven, and more from others, sent a proposal — letters and telegrams had already arrived from far away, trying to beat other possible suitors. The terrible news had traveled fast, and Sabrina seemed to be a prize. 

“Burn these,” she points to the stack with a carefully manicured finger. “I'm going to get ready for the day, and run errands. I expect this all cleaned up when I return, and we shall never speak of it again.”

She needed clarification and counsel, and so she readied herself to see Father Blackwood. Maybe Ambrose was right, maybe some bargain could be struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’re enjoying the story thus far. Many thank yous to everyone who takes the time to comment. I appreciate it more than you know. Xx


	6. Visiting

—

She had tried the church to no avail, so she was pleased to hear the sharp snap of gardening shears as she approached Father Blackwood’s home. At least someone was home.

She knocked and no one answered, and the frenzied noise from the garden peaked her interest even more. She rounded the house, through the formal garden and found him in his shirt sleeves cutting rose bushes. 

He noticed her and stopped his movements. “Sister Zelda, what a surprise, what can I do for you?”

She approached him carefully, her heels almost sinking into the soft earth. “I’m sorry to bother you at home, Father Blackwood, but I require counsel. I’m afraid it couldn’t wait.” She looks to the ground in what she hopes is a show of respect. She is, after all, at his house unexpectedly.

“Of course, please sit,” he gestures to the bench by the garden wall, and pulls a handkerchief from his trousers and dabs his head as he walks over to her.

Zelda sits and smoothes out her dress. Faustus sits beside her, and Zelda suddenly feels as if she’s going to break. There’s been no quiet since the news and now sitting here, it’s as quiet as a tomb, and he regards her solemnly. She doesn’t know where to begin.

“I assume you’re here about the marriage edict now in place,” he starts and she nods. 

“I have done my best with Sabrina but I fear it is not enough. Despite all efforts to get her to sign The Book of the Beast she still will not do so. I believe that if she were in the fold of the coven she would be safer, it would be better to remove herself from the mortal world, but instead I find she’s moving more away from us, the coven, and the Dark Lord himself.” A traitorous tear falls, and she wipes it away.

Faustus moves his hands over hers, “I understand. We are willful beings, and our Dark Lord requires devotion and other things from us in exchange for these delicious gifts. Sometimes we cannot see His reasoning but it is up to us to submit. I, too, sometimes struggle against what is required of us, but it is our duty to make him proud. Sabrina will sign when she marries, and she can fully embrace the path of night. This month will be difficult but she will soon see the way.”

Zelda laughs lightly, his advice good, as always, but this time mislaid. “I’m sorry, Your Excellency, you misunderstand me. She will not marry, she will not sign. I will stand for the Spellman family.”

His head jerks in surprise and searches her eyes to see if she was joking. His brow furrows, “You can’t be serious.”

“I am afraid this is our only option. Hilda is excommunicated, and Ambrose is on house arrest, and therefore unable. Which leaves it to me or Sabrina. I am sure this is not the news you expected. That this would finally be a way for Sabrina to sign but she’s obstinate, and if anything, this has incensed her more.” 

She clenches his hands, and tears fall again, “I fear I am letting you and the Dark Lord down with this news. I, too, want her on the path of night but not even this will compel her.”

“I confess I didn’t see this as a possibility, you’re quite well-known for your contempt of matrimony.”

Zelda smiles, “I am as surprised as you are.”

His face is ashen. Their goal was the same, to get Sabrina to sign. She clears her throat, “I know you share my view of it. But you must feel some comfort that it’s not being asked of you. You’ll continue to live as a bachelor, protected by your status.”

Faustus looks out at the garden, “My status, I’m loath to tell you, has afforded me nothing. I, too, am bound by the edict.”

They sit quietly. Both unsure of what exactly to say. Zelda gazes upon the garden too, and now the snapping blades of the cutting shears makes sense. The garden looks cut down to size. The news has upset him as well.

“As a High Priest, you’ll have your pick. It will, at least, afford you that.” She notices he’s bleeding, small cuts on his hands, surely from the roses now littering the garden.

“I could say the same for you, Zelda. I’m sure you’ll be inundated with offers once everyone knows it will be you to stand for the Spellmans.”

She preens a little at the comment. But a part of her wished he would ask her, but the other part knew she couldn’t trust him. He was Satan’s right hand man, and while she remained devoted, each day had been a struggle since the trial. She had dedicated her life to Satan but it meant nothing in the face of Sabrina. She worried that she would one day have to choose between her family and her religion. She would choose family, and knowing Faustus, she knew what he would choose. No, a marriage to Faustus would only lead to her family’s downfall. 

“I don’t suppose signing now would do any good? If I were somehow able to compel her? Or if we could have more time? Maybe some years at the Academy will do her good and show her how good of a fit the Path of Night is for her?”

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry, Zelda. The Dark Lord has made up his mind. There’s no going back.”

She knew it was fruitless but had to ask anyway.  
She sighs, “I should be going. Thank you for your counsel, Father.” 

—

He smiled at her formality. Ever since he became High Priest she referred to him in formal terms most of the time. Sometimes a “Faustus” would slip away when they spoke but more often than not she used his formal titles. 

She stood and teleported away on the spot. She had been decked out exquisitely in a black dress that hugged every curve of her, red lipstick, and a fire in her eyes. She tried her best to wear a mask in place of her feelings but her hands and eyes always told the truth.

Faustus couldn’t bring himself to ask her. He was too surprised that she would put herself up for the family. The entire coven would be. 

It was no secret that her parents had a tumultuous marriage, most of their parents did, but the Spellmans were its own brand of contempt and anger. The High Priesthood afforded many things, and it afforded Father Spellman to get away with murder. It was never proven, and there was no inquest into the death of Frances Spellman. It was more or less an open secret that he cursed his wife, and, despite all of Zelda’s efforts, she died anyway. Zelda had not been back to Greendale since, and only returned when her dear brother needed her.

He understood why Zelda would never marry a High Priest. It had never been a possibility, his fate was sealed when Father Spellman made his decision all those centuries ago. He threw his gardening shears in anger, and lit up the garden in flames as he walked inside.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am working away on the next several chapters but I wanted to upload this ahead of schedule. I hope everyone is having an okay week, sending you my best. 
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading, and for commenting. It feels truly wonderful when people engage with this story my dumb brain cooked up. 😂 Xx


	7. The Party

—

The announcement of an orgy was nothing new, typical amongst witches but the timing of such was surely influenced by the new rule. Many would fly in for this one. Greendale, the closest spot to the Devil on Earth, was hallowed ground. The coven there was the oldest, and it had been said that the families were more powerful. Zelda indulged in it, as did others, but in her travels she doubted it was true. Each had their gifts and she knew many mediocre witches in her own ranks of the coven. 

Zelda, rightly, had spared her niece of this, she couldn’t imagine Sabrina attending considering how squeamish she was about sex. For a blessed moment she found peace with her decision. But as she looked through her drawers to pick out what to wear her nerves got the best of her. It had been ages since she attended. Her brother died, and she had Sabrina to look after, the timing never worked out. Orgies themselves were hours long, and she just couldn’t dedicate the time to them. She picked up her odd lover here and there, much preferring a quick fuck to sate herself, but always on her own terms. To attend after all this time, and to attend in order to find a possible suitor was a tall order.

Her collection of lingerie was staggering, and as her hands flitted amongst the scraps of lace and silk she grew enraged thinking that in only two weeks time she would have to marry someone. The anxiety ate at her, the unknown had always bothered her these days. In her youth it was fun, never knowing what lay ahead of her. But now with her at the helm of the family, it was up to her to steady them, weather the storm for them. And Sabrina was a storm in her own right. Zelda liked order, rules, schedules, which is partially why she made such a dedicated acolyte. She liked knowing what to expect, and nothing about this was expected.

Hard to go wrong with black silk and french lace. As she fastened her thigh highs to her garter belt, slipped her feet into black heels, and threw on a laced robe that showed just enough tantalizing flesh beneath, she decided that tonight would be the night. She would choose from the pool of eligible bachelors. She would do what was asked of her. She would save her family, and save herself from the Dark Lord’s disgrace.

No more hoping that the new law went away. No trying to disentangle herself from this, she would face this head on, and like she told Sabrina, with a smile on her face.

—

She arrived and the festivities were already in full swing. The ballroom at Blackwood Manor had been transformed, everywhere you looked was a silken soft place with tangled bodies. It seemed as if everyone thought this was a last hurrah. Zelda needed a clear head to decide but she deserved this night of debauchery. Despite the flowing champagne, Faustus himself was nowhere to be found. Ever the hedonist, like her, he was surely one of the tangled bodies instead of tending to his guests. As she focused she could make out some faces. It was a veritable who’s who amongst her past lovers, international too. She poured herself a whiskey, downed it, and then another one. It was much needed for her brain to slip away from her anxious mind. 

“I wondered when you would arrive,” a deep voice boomed behind her. A large hand clasped over her shoulder, and she leaned back in the familiar chest. “I smelled gardenias and followed it to the bar. Some things never change.” 

She smiled and leaned her head back to look at him, “Hello, you.” She hadn’t seen Nero in ages — centuries she thinks. 

He’s older than everyone here but he doesn’t look a day over thirty, a gift from Satan himself as thanks for his immense distaste of the Christians. She doubts he’s been swayed by the edict, he’s usually exempt from everything given his status. But he does love to play, and he’s never said no to an orgy in all the years she’s known him.

He bends down to press a kiss to her neck and she can’t help but close her eyes as she enjoys the scrape of his teeth on her neck. 

She turns in his arms and takes a good look at him. The statues of him never did him any justice. It’s one thing to have history rewritten but another to see it happen.

He picks her up like she’s air, and moves her to a spot in the room, and slides her robe from her shoulders. She gets lost in the feeling of him kissing at her neck, and all thoughts melt away as she takes her pleasure in his touch.

Others join them, it’s mostly caresses and kisses and it’s the perfect warm-up to what will be a long night. He is eventually pulled away by one of the girls from the Academy, and she’s unsure if the poor girl knows what she’s getting herself into. She smirks at the thought. 

She runs into yet another ex-lover, and an old friend, John Turner. Satan, she missed these events. She doubts he will leave his coven in England for her, but given their history, he just might. She catalogs him away as a possibility. 

He’s leaning against a pillar and she’s leaning her back against his chest, and his fingers are deep in her cunt. She’s managed to hang on to her robe and heels but has lost the rest of her underpinnings during all the activity. His fingers are pumping in and out of her expertly. His hand is clamped hard to her waist, holding her in place against him. She can feel his hard cock up against her ass and she can’t help but lean more into him. He moans at her movements and she smiles wickedly. She hasn’t lost her touch. 

She’s so close, his fingers have made quick work of her, and she’s taking in the writhing crowd. She spots Faustus, and she notices he’s looking right at her. He doesn’t remove his eyes from her undulating form. She’s in no mood to close her eyes or break the gaze. She sees his eyes travel up and down her body, and he’s close enough to her that she can see he’s feasting on her image. 

And just like that, his look, that glance, sends her. Her walls contract around her lover’s fingers, and her breathing comes out erratically. She doesn’t break eye contact with Faustus as she cries out in ecstasy. John pulls her face to his in a kiss, when she pulls away for air she finds that Faustus has left. 

Another drink, another lover. His mouth is licking and sucking at her cunt, adding pressure with his fingers, and Satan it’s too good. She’s spent too long living in her head for the past sixteen years. Maybe she needed to attend these monthly devotions to knock her back into the woman she once was. She comes hard and fast against her lover’s mouth, her hands fisted in his hair. Her eyes are shut as she floats down back to herself — she can’t risk seeing Faustus again. Finally her head clears, her current lover excuses himself, and she finds herself parched from her exertions.

She walks towards the bar, on not so steady feet in her heels, and quite literally bumps into Faustus. He steadies her in his arms. They’re both in various states of undress, Faustus is without a shirt, and he has more tattoos littering his chest since the last time she saw him like this. Her lace robe is the only item of clothing she’s somehow managed to find and don. She’s forgotten how many garments she used to lose at these things. Surely Faustus has an extensive lost and found now. 

“I see you’re enjoying yourself,” she presses a nail into a bloody mark on his chest and he winces. 

“As are you, I see. Unless you arrived in only this robe,” he brushes her shoulder, “with nothing underneath. Tsk tsk, Zelda. It’s the middle of autumn.” He grins wolfishly and plucks a drink from the bar, and hands it to her. 

She likes that they pretend. Pretend as though earlier didn’t happen. Pretends that she didn’t see his hand slip under his boxers and fondle himself as she orgasmed against another warlock’s ministrations.

She smiles at the thought, and he walks with her, sipping his own coupe of champagne. ”You arrived quite late, I thought perhaps you might miss your own party.” She didn’t.

He smirks, “Have you ever known me to miss my own party? Church business. But I’m here now,” and he drains the rest of the coupe. “Fresh air?” 

He gestures to the garden, and she nods. He sets down their drinks on a nearby table, and pulls a cigarette from a case hidden under an urn, and hands it to her. He’s quick with a match. She quirks a brow, and leans against the brick of his house.

“You're not the only one who smokes you know. Just because you look like you invented it, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t smoke from time to time.”

She laughs, and rolls her eyes. “Have you found anyone yet?” She bats her lashes as she leans into his proffered match, lights the cigarette, and takes a drag. 

“I’ve found some candidates. How about you?” He lightly bumps her shoulder with his as they lean against his house, and she continues to smoke. This reminds her of their academy days — catching air, and sneaking a cigarette. 

The party continues, and if anything, it’s only become louder and warmer. The windows are starting to fog in the November air.

“The same,” she responds. “I’ll make a decision tomorrow I think.” She needs to decide but it’s all somehow becoming more complicated. Like the heat of Faustus’s shoulder on hers. 

He sighs, and his hand ghosts over his face. He looks tired. She discards the cigarette in a coupe. She can’t help herself. She feels like having fun.

“You know, Faustus, you aren’t following your own rules here. I believe you said once that an orgy without fucking is just a meeting.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, and he dips his head to her neck and places an open mouthed kiss to her, just below her ear. “Is this better?” He whispers in her ear between kisses. She nods and closes her eyes. 

“Tell me your choices,” she whispers. She’s sure he has all of the best options. Most witches will want him for themselves. A high priest and a high priest in Greendale, no less. 

He pauses briefly and her hands clasp his shoulders. He pulls the tie of her robe, and he bends his head to swipe his tongue across her nipple. His mouth is still cool from the champagne, and she moans at the contact. 

“I haven’t settled it. Fumiko maybe.” Her hands find their way to his head and she holds him at her breast as he continues to tongue at her nipples. His hands are rough on her waist holding her in place.

She lets out a light laugh, “I didn’t know your Japanese was any good. She prefers it to English, you know. I’ll be happy to give you more lessons, if need be. Her scream is truly divine when you have your tongue up her cunt.”

His hands tighten around her, and speaks against her breast, “I’ve just had the pleasure of learning that for myself.”

She pulls him by his hair, brings his face up to her, “Did you now?” She presses her lips to his, and glides her tongue ever so delicately across his lips. 

“So you did.” She presses her lips again to his and as her tongue swipes at his lips he opens his mouth against hers. Heat pools in her stomach. He feels so familiar despite all the years between them. It’s been ages since they’ve been together — decades.

There are various reasons why. Sabrina. Hilda. Edward. His position. Her independence. And her unshakable feeling that if she gave herself over to him that she would be consumed by him. 

Faustus is much too close to Satan to be trusted entirely. It was best to keep her distance, despite his gaze from earlier, and despite the way her body fits so well to his. 

But distance is for later. Right now she deserves this. Earned it. Distance is on tomorrow’s agenda. 

He’s kissing her like she’s his, and her head swims. His cock is hard against her and she curses the slip of fabric between them — his silk boxers offering the barest of resistance. His arms are above her, palms to the wall so he can press his body as close to hers as it can get. 

She grinds into him and he moans into her mouth. She should stop, she knows better than this. She will not walk away sated, no matter how exquisite he is — and he is. No, she will walk away with a fire lit, and it will take more decades to dampen the flames. But, do what thou wilt. 

She’s uncertain that the feeling of his rapid heartbeat echoing in her own chest will not leave too deep an impression on her memory, but she’s sure that this is her very last chance to have him in any way. 

Faustus must think the same as he pulls away and looks deep into her eyes. It’s almost too intimate for her but she’s not about to look away. Not again. Not when he can disappear from view. Not when he’s this close. Not when they’re saying goodbye. 

His pupils are blown wide, and she sees a small glimmer of herself reflected there. Her hands move to his face in a caress, and swipes a red lipstick mark with her thumb. She knew it looked flawless on her still — a personal spell, but it left marks upon whomever she was with. She liked imagining her lovers in a little parade post-orgy, each with a velvet red smear of lipstick somewhere on their body. A little Zelda Spellman hallmark. 

She smiles at it on Faustus, and moves to remove another mark. Faustus’s hand comes up to still hers, “Leave them,” he whispers. 

She writhes against him, wanting more of him. “Always so greedy, Zelda.” 

Her heart pounds hard in her chest. He so rarely addresses her by her name, she’s often Sister Zelda or Miss Spellman. His voice shouldn’t bore deep into her like it does. She’s embarrassingly wet; she’s ready for him. 

He kisses her again, his large hands squeeze her waist. She can’t take much more, she’s been wound up for hours. Her hands work on their own and pushes his silk boxers down. 

She meant to seek out more lovers, new and old. Weigh her options, which is why they were there to begin with. But Faustus pushes into her and her mind goes blank. Nothing matters but this. The feeling of him inside her. Him panting against her ear. Him whispering her name. The heat flowing off of his body, warming hers against the cold midnight air. 

She had not planned on seeing him. Not like this. She didn’t feel as if they owed one another a goodbye. Afterall, neither of them were leaving Greendale. They would remain. They would remain a part of the coven, albeit with spouses in tow. 

This felt like a goodbye, this felt final. This would be the last time they would be together like this, and it felt suddenly emotional. He reaches between them and his fingers brush against her. “Come for me, Zelda,” he whispers so softly against her ear. He’s regarding her as if she were precious, and it’s that which makes her come. Her muscles clench around him, the waves of pleasure overtake her entirely. Her head swims. If he weren’t holding her so securely in his arms she’s sure she would faint. 

She cries out his name, and her fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his neck. He slows his movements as she comes down from her orgasm. “Zelda,” he strains as he continues to pump in and out of her slowly to draw out more pleasure. She’s breathless still, and she looks at him and sees the question. 

She was a traditionalist and a traditionalist even in the sense of lust filled orgies. She’s not sure of the prevailing rule now. It’s probably anything goes, but for her, and for Faustus, it’s the old ways. 

She nods her head in a yes to his unspoken question, and he groans out her name against her lips as he spills his seed inside her. She has no regrets. There would have been no better end to this night than her pressed here against Faustus with her name on his elegant tongue as he comes inside her. 

But just like that, according to the old ways, the night is over — for the both of them. She doesn’t want to pull apart but she’s exhausted, body and mind. Faustus lets her down gently, and steadies her as she regains her footing. He ties her robe before pulling his boxers back on. 

The cool air is getting to them, she sees goosebumps across his flesh. He pulls another cigarette from his stash, lights it in his mouth, takes a puff and hands it to her. “Stay here for a minute,” he says and then disappears inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little update here, you know, just a chapter on an orgy for a Monday. Don’t say I never did anything for you. 😂 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading, it means a lot to me. Thank you to all who comment; it’s the best gift a writer can receive. Xx


	8. The Walk

—

“I’d prefer to walk back, if you don’t mind.” He somehow found her undergarments, all of them, and he handed her one after another as she pulled them on. She couldn’t help but notice his eyes were glued to her as she slipped on each piece. She took longer than normal to clip her stocking to her garter belt, the feeling of his eyes on her felt exciting still. She grinned at him when finished — a little striptease in reverse. 

He held out a coat, his, for her. He was immaculately dressed, formal, once more. Difficult to tell they had been skin on skin mere minutes ago. “Would you like a companion?” 

She slipped her arms through the coat he held out for her. It smelled like him, like citrus and roses. “Faustus, it’s your party, you should stay.” 

He buttoned the coat all the way to the top, and pulled her hair from underneath the collar. Normally she wouldn’t let someone hover over her but she finds she doesn't mind his doting.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I’d prefer a walk as well. In the deep dark wood.” He grinned and arched an eyebrow. 

—

She nodded, and she slipped her hand through his proffered arm. “I like it when there’s no one around, even the animals are asleep. It feels like it used to. The woods are quiet, the stars shine brighter without all of the light pollution. I miss candlelight.”

Her heels crunch in the pea gravel drive of his house as they walk. It’s not too far of a walk between their respective houses.

“I miss a lot of things,” he remarks. “The clothes, for one.” Zelda, for another. Her arm is gently resting in the crook of his elbow and he’s thinking of all the parties of their youth that he’s escorted her to...and from. 

“Always a dandy, though you dress much the same as you used to — cane included.” He doesn’t have it with him as the moment, it’s purely for looks, and fun. 

He smiles, “Oh, but you love my cane.” It’s true, she did. He distinctly remembers her voice counting the whips of it against her bare ass, always hoarse and threaded with lust. 

“Lucky Fumiko.” He turns and sees her wicked grin as they keep walking ahead on the dirt path, well-worn from centuries of foot traffic. Her voice drops, “Promise me you’ll share her with me, don’t keep all the fun to yourself.”

He stops walking and her arm slips from his and only stops walking when she notices he has stopped. “I was only joking, Faustus. You don’t have to share.” She takes a step towards him, and a hand brushes his cheek, “I know how possessive you are.”

He grabs her hand, “I have to tell you something.” He didn’t want to do this, he has delivered enough bad news for a lifetime. But if he owes anyone anything, it’s her. A lifetime of friendship and familiarity affords her more than most.

She drops her hand, she looks wary. She steps back, away from him — closer to home. She doesn’t ask.

“I was late to the event because I was visited by the Dark Lord,” he sighs, and presses on, afraid he will be unable to get it out if he doesn’t continue all at once. 

“Once the month is over, and everyone is married off, he will issue another edict. Each family must have an heir.”

Zelda looked pale, even more so than usual.

He sighs, “I wanted you to know...in case it informed your decision. I’m not to announce it until next month.”

Her hands are at her chest, she’s breathing rapidly. He walks over to steady her. “I’m sorry, I wanted you to know.”

“I can’t.” She whispers out amongst the gasps. 

He feels the same. This entire thing all because Sabrina wouldn’t sign the Book. Satan is capricious, always has been, but going this far for some sixteen year old is ruinous for the church. He’s never seen anything like it.

“He is asking a lot of us. I understand.” It’s the least he can say. He has no power here, no power to go against the Dark Lord, and the edicts He issues. Zelda already has her hands full, taking on a baby would be another task entirely. A spouse. A child. He, too, feels overwhelmed.

Her breathing starts to even out, coming in short breaths of steamy air into the cold dark night.

She exhales sharply, and looks at the ground, “No, you misunderstand me.” 

She refuses to look at him, she shakes her head, “I cannot have children. That is to say, I am unable to.” She turns away from him, looks upward, face towards the moon, and her shoulders are shaking. 

The wind is knocked out of him. His mind feels blank or it’s running wildly, he can’t tell. The silence stretches between them. He can hear her cry ever so silently.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what to say. He’s counseled couples without children, couples who wanted them. But he feels suddenly stuck and his previous advice to pray on it feels so terribly weak, so little in the face of something so tragic. He places his hands on her shoulders in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

She turns around, and nods as if to move on from this. She fidgets with her hands before shoving them into the pockets of the coat. 

She’s shaking in the cold air. Faustus adds his scarf around her neck, and rubs his hands against her arms in an attempt to warm her. A small cold hand comes up, “Thank you for telling me. I know you did at your peril. I will keep the news to myself.”

“Let’s get you home,” and he proffers his arm once again, she slips hers through. He peeks sideways at her, and her face is calm but he spies tear tracks down her face, glowing in the moonlight.

They walk silently for a while, both lost in thought. An ache deep inside of Faustus grows and grows. 

He had not given much time to sit with his feelings on either of the edicts. It has been so easy to follow all the rules, blindly. Black Mass, Feast of Feasts, Midwinter, Lupercalia, The Hare Moon — all of it. No questions, just following directions. Yes, it had been easy, and yes, it had often been fun. The revels. The orgies. The gluttony. The lust. 

It could be just as easy to follow these. He’s less inclined, but it’s not their job to question. Though he doesn’t know what’s next. What will come later? Maybe he can help or shield Zelda. Maybe his status as High Priest would provide something. Maybe she would see him as something more than his status. Maybe it would provide protection.

“Zelda,” he whispers, it’s so deadly quiet on the path, to be any louder feels sacrilegious in liminal time. He stops and takes her hand.

Her eyes are awash with tears, he’s certain she’s cursing herself for crying in front of him, but her emotions, her confession, has humbled him. He just as easily could have married a witch, carried out the edicts, this one, the next — surely more. But he searches her face and makes a decision.

“Marry me,” he whispers against her knuckles, and presses a kiss to the back of her icy hand. 

There's no hesitation on her part. “No.” She slips her hand from his, and walks down the path. 

He stands stunned, he’s rooted to the spot. Zelda never made anything easy. It was part of the reason why he was drawn to her. Others danced around him — did anything to gain his favor, but Zelda never did. Her honesty grounded him. She always delivered hard truths. To gain favor with Zelda was to really feel worthy of something. He knew she would say no. He just didn’t know how quick it would be, or how deeply it would cut into him. 

His brain finally catches up with his body, and his long strides make short of the distance between them but she’s already at the long drive to her house. 

“Stop following me. Go home.” She spits it out as she turns and looks at him. “I will not have your pity, Faustus.”

“Good,” he huffed out into the night. “Because you don’t have it. I don’t pity you, Zelda. I’ve wanted to ask you every single day but I knew you’d never marry me.”

He turns on his heels — he’d teleport but he needs the walk, the fresh air, the time to calm down the rage brewing inside him. Surely his house was still full of people, and he wanted to be alone. Always alone, his mind whispers.

A small voice makes him stop, “Why?”

She’s far away from him but her voice carries easily through the still night air. “Why did you know I would say no?” 

The easier question would have been why did you ask me but again, Zelda isn’t easy. She wants the harder questions, the harder answers — the more searching questions, the gut-wrenching answers. 

“Because I know you would never marry a High Priest...because of your mother.”

Her arms wrap around herself, and unthinkingly pulls his coat closer around her. “Don’t speak of her.” Her hand comes up to her mouth, he guesses so she doesn’t let out a wail. It was almost unspeakable what happened to her mother, and because of that, no one ever did speak of it.

He’s coming undone. A small walk with Zelda through the woods and his whole life changes. Nothing will ever be the same from this point forward. The edict didn’t change him, Zelda’s reaction to it did. He wants to rush towards her and comfort her but knows better than that. Zelda needs time alone, she needs to slink away from him, and tend her wounds in private. He guesses that in typical Zelda fashion this conversation will never be mentioned, her face will be arranged perfectly, no evidence of tears, of unburdening. She will lock herself away again. From him, from everyone, from herself.

She turns and walks up the long drive, and all he can do is stand there and watch her walk away from him.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early chapter for you. Please let me know what you think. Xx


	9. Seeing

She falls into bed without bothering to remove anything. She’s exhausted to the bone. She’s fraying at the edges. Hilda has taken to sleeping in a different bedroom, and Zelda is happy to not have an audience at the moment. She needs to sleep, needs to pause, and so she recites favorite passages from literature in different languages. Anything to focus on, other than the utter mess she needs to sort out upon waking. Eventually she nods off and sleeps like the dead.

She wakes up hours later, having slept most of the day away by the looks of the light streaming in through the curtains. It’s terribly unlike her but necessary. She knew Hilda would cover for her.

She peels Faustus’s coat and scarf, and finds herself annoyed at the comfort it momentarily brought her as she breathed in his scent. Damn him. She throws it across her bed in a spurt of anger.

She screams into a pillow and feels much better. Though her head aches. 

She undresses and slips into a hot bath. It was a mess. All of it. 

She wishes she could be so easy. She wishes she were someone else, someone who could say yes to Faustus, without thinking. Her brain rebelled against her time and time again. She could see that he was sincere in his question, and serious in his tone as to the memory of her mother. 

Her hands curl into fists in the water. No. She will not think of it, of her. She will focus on the tasks ahead of her. 

Another ache twinges within her. The second edict. She doesn’t know how to proceed.

As if on cue, Hilda knocks at the door. She opens it and the tray is laid with various items— with several potions (headache, she hopes), nettles and lavender for her bath, and tea. 

Hilda settles in on a stool beside the tub, the one she used to perch on when giving Sabrina baths when she was little. The thought wants to make her cry even more.

Hilda smiles sympathetically at her, she knows Hilda has read her mind thoroughly before entering. In times of distress Zelda allows it. It’s often easier to do than speaking things aloud. 

She sips her tea, hot and with honey, and refuses to look at Hilda anymore in case she cries.

Hilda is her cheery self as she adds the items to Zelda’s bath, and momentarily it boosts Zelda’s mood. 

Hilda gives her a very slight sympathetic gaze as if to show her that she understands the situation fully. Zelda can see flashes of what she’s seen and Hilda’s eyes turn watery for a moment. Their mother.

Frances Spellman. Powerful, fierce, funny, witty, incredibly talented, achingly beautiful, and not at all one to toe the line, do what was expected of her, or bend and scrape to her husband. Which, of course, was her downfall. 

Zelda can tell that they’re both remembering her gaunt form as the curse ate her from within. A madwoman in the attic. She brushes away the memory. It’s been hundreds of years and she needs to put it back into a box and lock it away within herself. She could end up like her if she weren’t careful.

Zelda smiles thinly to Hilda, who is doing her best not to cry audibly, though tears are streaming from her eyes. 

Zelda pats her hand, and Hilda cheers slightly. Hilda grabs a tiny vial from the tray and hands it to her. “Fertility potion. It should help.”

Zelda almost drops it. She shakes her head, “It isn’t like that. The Dark Lord himself afflicted me. As a punishment, for father.” She looks down at her feet resting on the side of the tub. It was dreadfully easy to kill him in the end, so easy that she was unsure why she waited that long.

Hilda’s hand cups her cheek, “You don’t see it, do you? I knew you were devout but I didn’t think you’d believe the Dark Lord could take something like that from you.” 

Zelda snaps her head. “What do you mean? Of course He can. He has. He took away our magic at the trial. He can do whatever He wants with us.” 

A fire was lit within. Hilda had never been a fervent supporter of the Dark Lord. Yes, she attended Black Mass, did most of what was asked of her, but really, it wasn’t for her. She really happened to be a witch, she didn’t let it define her like Zelda had. 

Zelda had been punished for killing their father. He had one thing taken away that she loved the most — family. She would not bear any children. She had lost her mother, her father died by her hand (an accident, the coven was told), but the Dark Lord knew of her transgression. She had asked for forgiveness and he bestowed it in His own way. She dedicated herself to Him, in hopes to please Him, to live a life worthy of living. Simply, to live.

But the Devil was a deceiver. 

“But we aged...I…” 

Hilda raises a hand and stops her. “It’s all an illusion. We did seem to age, we thought we had, but it was a trick. He’s a master manipulator. I’m sure He punished you to keep you in line. But He can’t take away our power, He can’t control our magic or our bodies like that. I’m sure you didn’t even try to test your powers when we were supposedly without them. But I did. Nothing had changed.” She sighs.

Zelda looked up at her confused. Hilda seemed sure, positive — but all these years. All these years without a child.

Hilda, of course, has read her thoughts, “Have you tried to have a child? Purposefully? Or, have you believed His lie and never tried? We have autonomy Zelda. He just doesn’t want us to see it. We are all pawns. Playthings for Him. Don’t you see it?”

Zelda had felt it. She felt as if all of these edicts were games. She knew that they were but she had never bothered to untangle all of the past lies she was dealt. She knew He wanted Sabrina, but she hadn’t looked so far back to assess what He wanted from her. An acolyte. Someone dedicated to furthering the Spellmans on the Path of Night. Her fervor had been their guiding force. She had pushed Sabrina. Continually. No more. She feels foolish now. Years wasted. Hundreds of them. All to further Him and His beliefs. And for what in return?

“He can still kill us,” she spoke and tapped her nails on the side of the bath.

Hilda smiled widely, “And that is why we must have a plan.”

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small update. Happy October! 
> 
> Many thanks to everyone reading, and commenting. It really means a lot to me. Xx


	10. A Drink

—

She takes the long walk back to his house, his coat and scarf in hand. A simple excuse to see him. 

She sees Prudence step out of the door, and Faustus places a kiss on her cheek. Her heart skips a beat, she’s too late. She’s said no and he’s already buried his feelings and his cock in someone. Someone centuries younger than her. Someone able to fulfill all the tasks ahead of them. There’s an ache in her chest and she tries her best to ignore it but it’s working it’s way throughout her body.

Prudence. Of course it was Prudence. As beautiful as she is bright. She shouldn’t be too surprised, she knew his ego was fragile. He’s used to getting his way. Used to someone agreeing with him. Who better than a student. She once was too.

She had not thought this far, but time was running out and of course, he would look further afield. He would waste no time. The thought of it cut her more than she thought. She imagined him with some nameless wife, or possibly Fumiko, someone she’s been with too, but seeing Prudence leave with a self-satisfied smirk on her face leaves Zelda with a painful jealousy she didn’t realize she had. 

She masks her feelings as she sees Faustus notice her. Prudence teleports on the spot, and Zelda is glad to not have to make chit-chat with her.

She’s decided to play this visit as old friends and old lovers, and of course, they are. If anything, friends is what they are first. But over the years they’ve slipped into their high priest and parishioner roles. Zelda isn’t one to dwell on the past, she’s always looking ahead. Which is why she’s here.

“I came to return your coat and scarf, but it seems as if you were perhaps otherwise...engaged.” She can’t help but draw out the word, to twist the knife.

“Nonsense, I always have time for you. Tea?” He gestures towards the door and she steps in. 

He takes the coat and scarf from her and pulls her coat from her shoulders. She hadn’t made this easy on him. His eyes rake over her form and she knows she’s made the right choice with a black silk dress, nothing out of the ordinary for her but a softer fabric that’s hard to resist touching. He’s easy to tempt. 

His hands rest gently on her shoulders, and she can feel his thumb caress the fabric. “I’m glad you’re here, I have something to show you.”

He doesn’t mention last night or look at her with pity in his eyes. He looks at her the same as he always does, with playful affection. 

He walks into the parlor and there are books and social registers laying about, it looks much like her parlor. 

He gestures to a chair and she sits while he pours a drink for them. 

The skirt of her dress rides up a bit as she crosses her legs and she’s pleased to see him notice. He had always been so easy to bed.

He walks away to grab something from his desk in the corner and she’s quick enough to pour the vial she had stored up her sleeve into his drink. He returns none the wiser holding some books and papers.

She sips her drink in hopes that he might drink his, but he’s flipping through some pages on his lap. 

“Faustus,” she speaks and leans forward, “we can look at this later, hmm?” She is curious as to what he has to show her but she’s more concerned about her mission at the moment. The papers can wait.

She kneels in front of him, and his papers flutter to the ground. 

“Zelda,” he groans out and is momentarily distracted. She sees the hunger in his eyes. Her hands glide over the fabric of his trousers, his thighs. His eyes are glittering at her in the low light of the fire. 

Her hands are about to unbutton his trousers when Faustus grabs her hands in his to still them. He scrutinizes her and she feels uncomfortable under his gaze. She knew she was playing with fire. She casts her eyes downwards, staring at her hands in his. She wonders if she’s been caught.

He moves to hold both her hands with one of his and his other hand comes up, sharp, under her chin, to tilt her head to look at him.

“What is this, Zelda?” 

She’s at a loss for words. She thought this would be the quickest way to what she wanted but apparently he had other ideas. 

Her cruelty will balance the field again. 

“I didn’t realize that you were suddenly concerned with who you fuck, Faustus. Did Prudence tire you out? Or is she requesting some form of monogamy?”

Faustus’s face twitches at the mention of Prudence.

She jerks her chin and his nail cuts into her as she moves her face away but her hands are still captured in his. She tries to rip them out of his grasp. 

“Not a chance, darling.” He tightens his grip, bruises will bloom in no time. “If I remember correctly, you said no. But you also don’t want others to have me, is that it? A spoiled girl. You know I am bound by the same edict as you.”

She’s still kneeling between his legs and her knees are starting to hurt. She would much rather this evening go on her terms. He could be laying back drinking his scotch with her mouth on his cock but no.

He lets her hands go, she massages her wrists, and stands. “You’re old enough to be her father.” 

Ages were fast and loose in the witching world, especially when you were centuries old, but the fact that Prudence was a classmate of Sabrina’s reminds her just how stark an age difference there was at their tender age. She’s not exactly sure why she’s so worked up about this. Maybe because she’s never been turned down.

Faustus leans back in his chair, “Well there you have it. I am old enough to be her father. As I am her father. Happy now?”

Zelda kept quiet as she watched Faustus pick up the papers from the floor, he stacked them neatly and set them aside. 

“You haven’t left my thoughts for a moment since last night. I stayed up thinking about the edict, how best to find a loophole. It only specifies an heir, it doesn’t specify whose heir it must be. You have an heir in Sabrina. She’s the Spellman heir, along with Ambrose. And I have Prudence, if I legitimize her.”

Her brain is buzzing, her heart is racing. She sits back down in her chair, the room feels like it’s spinning.

“I know you don’t want to marry me, Zelda but I think this is the best option we all have. I looked all through the registers for other warlocks for you but virtually no one will legitimize their bastards. And...I’m not sure how comfortable you feel telling someone else the reason why.”

She had come over to find out if he could be trusted and find out how much he knows. She just didn’t expect it to take this turn.

Tears are threatening to fall and she doesn’t like that in the span of only twenty four hours she’s been a puddle of a person in front of him. She looks at the flames dancing in the fireplace so as not to face him. She feels his gaze on her. “You’re wrong you know, Faustus. I do want to marry you. I just don’t want to be cursed for it.”

He leans forward and grabs her hands in his, tenderly this time. “I know you feel as though you can’t trust me, and I understand why you don’t have a high opinion of High Priests but I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t curse you, Zelda. Do you really think so little of me?”

They’ve been friends, they are friends. Sometimes the lines and boundaries blur between them and she views him as an old friend, and the very next minute he's a foe. She never knows who exactly they are to one another. There’s an undercurrent of pain in his voice, and she’s surprised. She knows she’s cruel sometimes but she’s also simply looking out for herself and her family. 

“You are the Dark Lord’s representative on Earth. What am I supposed to think? He wants Sabrina to sign His book. So much that he’s come up with these edicts. To punish me, specifically. In order to have Sabrina stand for the family and not me. He is the only one who knew I couldn’t have children. Why else make it an edict? What we are talking about right now is heresy. We could both burn in the pit for this. You could turn me in right now and you would be rewarded. And how can I trust that you won’t? Today? Tomorrow? How could I sleep at night next to you thinking that my husband might betray me? How do I know that you’re not working for him now?”

She feels wild and out of control. She’s prided herself on toeing the line, on self-control but now she’s in free fall. Years of repressed anger and hurt have bubbled up. Usually it’s reserved for Hilda but Faustus has struck a nerve. Her heart is pounding out of her chest, and she doesn’t know how to calm herself down.

His hands leave her hands and move to cup her face, “Zelda, I...care deeply for you.” 

He leans forward and places a tender kiss to her lips. 

She kisses him back though she should know better. Her mind is screaming at her, that this is all some elegant little trap but she can’t help herself. She’s held back for so long. She’s always tried her best to not entangle herself like this with Faustus. She’s tried to not fall under the spell of his charm, she’s tried to see him for what he is, a High Priest, just like her father. But she knows how she feels when she’s with him. It’s different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early update because I couldn’t help myself. Thank you to everyone reading, and to those who have left comments. 
> 
> If you’re interested I have a little list of songs I’ve been inspired by for this story on my tumblr, SpellwoodManor. 
> 
> Xx


	11. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This dances around a bit with POV. Hopefully it’s clear. Faustus, Faustus, Zelda.

—

He can’t blame her for not trusting him.  
He sometimes didn’t trust himself. Not until last night really. Her confession shifted something within him. His loyalty had always, unquestionably, laid with the Dark Lord. It was plain to see her loyalty had always been to her family, though there was an element of dark devotion along with it. She followed the path fervently but in recent years, with Sabrina in tow, followed it with a hesitation. A hesitation he didn’t have. Not until very recently.

Faustus knew that he was different. He had not known the close bond of familial ties. He had been mostly left on his own, shipped off to various boarding schools before attending the Academy. The close knit group of the Spellman siblings was foreign to him but how he loved to be with them. Their intelligence, their banter, their ambitions. They were all so different and talented in their own ways. He felt a joy being around them, but with it came an underlying jealousy. They all had one another, and he had no one.

But he knew how he felt when he saw the pain etched across Zelda’s face. He felt as if he would do anything to protect her. 

When he looked inwards he too realized how these edicts were ripping the very fabric of their beliefs apart. These were antithetical to the nature of who they were, what they had agreed to. Yes, they had free will and the Dark Lord called upon them for his bidding but these practices? 

And when he thinks of all that he’s done in his long life, he can’t help but feel a profound sadness that the younger generation of witchkind would miss out on their vast travels. What could they learn about themselves and the world when confined to settling into marriage at a tender age, and bearing and raising children so young? They were children themselves. It was a narrow view of the world, and not at all the view that his generation had been raised on.

His thoughts drift to Prudence. Prudence had a whole life laid out in front of her, the world at her feet. And now it was all for naught. She, too, had been a prime acolyte, like him, like Zelda. She deserved the world that she was promised. He can hardly imagine her brightness dimmed while she was still so young. Her life will not be stolen from her due to the Dark Lord’s petty dealings with a sixteen year old. 

As he walked back from Zelda, he planned. 

—

She showed up on his doorstep as Prudence was leaving and the timing was as if he had summoned her there. He didn’t miss the way her eyes narrowed at the sight of Prudence. He knows what she’s thinking, and it’s always the worst of him.

She’s exquisite from head to toe as he takes in her appearance when he removes her coat. A black silk dress setting off her pale skin and velvety blood red lips. 

He was unsure how this visit would play out but it seems as if Zelda has come to seduce, and despite the bitter sting from last night’s rejection, he’s never one to say no to Zelda, or, at the very least, to play.

His hands linger over her a moment as if to signal a truce, and he guides them to the parlor. Tea suddenly seemed to no longer fit the occasion.

While he’s unsure of exactly what she wants, he knows that she wants. He’s willing to give it to her, he always has. This was a touch overwrought but after last night they both needed it. He wants to help, but it’s in no way what Zelda wants. She doesn’t want his help, she wants to take it. He’s hoping he can beat her to the punch.

He picks up various scraps of paper from his desk and by the look in Zelda’s eye he can see that it’s the least interesting thing. She slides off the chair, kneels before him, and his cock hardens as a pure reflex. He always loved Zelda on her knees. She’s not making this easy at all. But he won’t either.

When he asks her what she’s doing, she turns angry. Red hot anger in a flash. There’s his girl. Somehow she’s made this easy by her mention of Prudence. Though nothing of what he has to say is easy. Deep down he knows he’s not good enough for her, but he also doesn’t know who is.  
He’s her best bet, her family’s, Prudence’s. Together they can find some form of peace he hopes.

He holds her wrists tight in his arms and his trousers are becoming more uncomfortable by the second. A pliant Zelda is exquisite but it’s a hard match for an angry Zelda. And she’s becoming more mad by the second.

As he’s telling her about Prudence, about the loophole, he sees her tearing up again. She removes herself from the floor. Her anger is falling away, and it’s replaced by a deep hurt. He knows he’s been a difficult person to trust but all he wants to do is fix this for them, she only has to let him.

When she says she does want to marry him, he feels as though his heart stops momentarily. Her list of wants is long, and though sometimes his name appears on it, it’s usually only temporary. 

All of the arguments for why he’s a poor consideration for a husband are true, or were, and though he knew them already, he can feel more clearly, more viscerally of why exactly this has been difficult for her.

But he cares, it’s hard to explain. They don’t know love but he knows caring. And a little hope blooms when he finally says it out loud and she kisses him back. This might just work out.

—

She pulls back breathless, her chest heaving, and she brushes her hair to the side and regards him seriously.

“Tell me your plan.” She wants to hear what exactly he thinks he’s worked out, and what he knows. His confession of care was touching, she also feels an affinity for him, one that she doesn’t dare voice aloud. But she’s still on guard. She would have married him either way, as per Hilda’s advice, but as a co-conspirator was much preferred.

He lays it out. Their marriage prevents both Prudence and Sabrina from the edicts. She doesn’t dwell on him having a daughter, so many of their kind have illegitimate children. She is amused how alike he and Prudence are once she thinks about it. They worry over the loophole, or, really she does. 

He does his best to assuage her. “He wants Sabrina, and if she isn’t up for the edict then certainly another from the Spellman family would be His preferred choice, as if to keep an eye on them.”

“What if he issues another edict to fix the loophole to the heir of the families?” She wants to know how far he’s willing to go, what he’s willing to do. She knows her limits — none. And so it’s best she knows his.

As if realizing it as well, he nods. His voice is low. “Zelda, I am willing to put my life on the line for you. All of you. I am also trusting you with the safety of my daughter.”

She breathes out a sigh of relief. She closes her eyes to try to think of any more details and questions. She has a million but none are coming to her at the moment.

She feels him move closer to her, his hands under her dress caressing her legs, pressing kisses to her neck. She keeps her eyes closed, enjoying his touch alone. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if to memorize her body. They’ve never had time to take away from everyone, from all of their obligations. Maybe marriage wouldn’t be all turmoil.

His lips brushed along hers, “Dearest Zelda. Will you marry me?”

She realizes now she never actually said yes despite it being implied. 

His voice is so tender against her lips, and a breathless yes spills from her mouth as she presses her lips to his. His talented hands are working at the fastenings of her stockings, her tongue dances against his. He tastes like whiskey, and as she’s enjoying the feel of his hard body pressed up against hers, her mind finally catches up. Whiskey. 

She opens her eyes, pushes Faustus away from her and sees his empty tumbler. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy midweek to you all! I really wish Netflix would tell us when Part IV comes out. This is becoming ridiculous. 
> 
> Many thanks to everyone for reading and commenting. It’s nice to know that people are following along. Hopefully another chapter update this weekend. Also, I realize this is going slowly, but time will speed up a bit soon. I always struggle with details/adding too many/not moving things along. So thank you for bearing with me. Xx


	12. Truth

—

“Faustus…” She looks at him and the empty glass. She’s not quite sure where to start. Slipping potions into drinks intended for your betrothed isn’t really the done thing. Well, not anymore.

Faustus only lazily regards her and his eyes shift towards the empty glass, and he smiles. “Oh my wicked girl, what have you done now?”

There’s a playfulness to his voice that she didn’t expect, it’s certainly not how she would react had it been her. Though, she’s a little nervous because while she doesn’t mind the truth spilling from his lips, she minds that the whiskey on his tongue, as it slid against hers, has certainly loosened her tongue a little too, though not as terribly as his will be.

“It’s a truth serum, of course. I wasn’t going to poison you, though I still could, I suppose,” it’s already working, she can tell. Slightly for her, and now he’s at full incapacitation to lie to her.

He grins wider. “Well, I can hardly blame you. Go ahead, ask away.” He’s making this painfully easy and she only hates herself a little bit that she will take what she wanted. 

“You aren’t mad then? That I came here to do this?” She adopts a playful tone as well. And pulls his tie as she speaks.

He’s still grinning, and kisses the inside of her wrist, “Not even a little bit. I like you like this. The always scheming Zelda Spellman. She’s one of my favorites.”

She smiles, disentangles her hand from his and sits back in her chair. “Now be good, and I won’t have to dose you again, or slip a forgetful potion afterwards like I had planned. I can still tie you up, if you’d like.” 

His hands white knuckle the arms of the chair, as if to be good, “Later,” he says, and she knows that once she’s extracted everything she wants, they’ll celebrate. But time is of the essence.

“Your full name please.” She has a list of questions she’s rehearsed both with Hilda, and in the walk over. Quick questions like this are helpful to see how forthright his answers are versus any later.

“Faustus Balthazar Blackwood.”

“Birthdate?”

“November 27th...1733.” 

She knows he pauses to remember because while the day doesn’t go unnoticed, the year often does. It’s all a blur at some point. 

She asks other easy questions, his parents' names (Balthazar and Felicity), his familiar (Julian, and sadly, no longer amongst the living), various details she knows the answers to, and before she gets into her heavier questions, she can’t help herself.

“Favorite lover?” She’s looking at her nails so it reads as nonchalance though the question is the least nonchalant.

“You.” He’s so quick with the answer, and no lies here. He’s had many, possibly more than her but she’s hard to beat. She takes a little thrill of pleasure at his answer and its swiftness.

A little thought tugs at her and she asks it before thinking, “Are you disappointed that I cannot...that we cannot have children?” 

She knows what Hilda has said. She trusts her sister but they don’t know for a fact if she can. It’s simply an educated guess based off of Hilda practicing her magic when she was supposedly without powers. She doesn’t want to give any false hope to Faustus, who might very well take it to heart. There’s also a part of her that’s not ready to open up to hope, she made a certain amount of peace with the news all those years ago. 

“Yes...” He answers again quickly but trails off. “But not in the way you think.” Her heart leaps to her throat. 

“I don’t pity you, I know you said it last night but I don’t. I have always wanted to marry you. I’m not just doing this to save our families, I have coveted you from the moment we met. I would have always wanted to marry you. I confess it would have been nice to raise children with you, but I suppose we’re doing that now, in our own way. I’ve thought of you with child, with our child, but perhaps this realm isn’t ready for such perfection.” He smiles a small sad smile.

She suddenly can’t look at him, instead she’s fidgeting with her hands; she can tell he’s looking at her. He moves towards her, and as he kisses her, some tears spill down her cheeks. “You would have made a wonderful mother, Zelda.” A sob escapes her. In arguments she feels as though Sabrina is always about to throw it in her face, that she’s not Sabrina’s mother. Despite it being true, she effectively is. And the reminder of it hurts deeply. Zelda’s mind is always quick to hurt. Faustus continues to kiss her face, her neck, and her hands tangle in his hair. 

He rests his forehead on hers for a quiet moment and pulls away to look in her eyes, his hands at her waist. “Did the Dark Lord do this to you? As a punishment?” She only nods in answer. 

He cups her face in his hands, his eyes aflame, his voice sure, “I’m going to kill Him.”

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for this short little chapter but I wanted to get something out to you sooner rather than later. I promise this will continue. Hope to update again later this week. Thank you all for sticking with me, for commenting and engaging with it. Truly means the world to me. Xx


	13. Communion

—

He didn’t know he would say it, let alone think it but given the circumstances he knew it must be true. The very foundation on which he built his life is breaking down in front of him, but he sees now a future worth building. He may not live long enough to see it but any time with Zelda will have been worth it. All of it will have been worth it to protect them all. He’s as sure of killing the Dark Lord as he’s been sure of anything. It’s all he can see now.

Zelda without her mask is a Zelda worth having. He can see that she berates herself for crying in front of him but he doesn’t mistake her vulnerability for weakness. She’s strong, hellishly so, but also more emotionally vulnerable than he imagined.

Her eyes glint in the firelight at his words. She lets out a breath, “How?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll figure it out.” His mind races thinking of all the various ways this could happen, how it should happen.

“We will figure it out. Together.” He nods. His heart twists at her words. Together.

—

He sits back in his chair, obedient. She still has questions. They still have planning. Her heart is racing, her nerves getting the best of her, extreme anxiety as to the future. But he seems so sure, Hilda seems so sure. 

“Do you think we are magical without Him? If we kill Him, will we still be left with our powers or will we fade and wither away?” She knows Hilda but she wasn’t as fervent as she was, or Faustus. She wants his honest opinion.

His face scrunches in consternation, seemingly having never considered it. “Possibly. It could be possible that we are inherently magical, our power deriving from Hell and not just service to Satan. Hell existed before Him, possibly He used it to tempt us to follow him and not god who cast Him out. Sabrina hasn’t signed the book, she’s magical. She comes from a line of powerful witches.” He pauses as his eyes rake over her. “Signing the book may imbue her with more power but where is the source? Is it Hell or is it Lucifer?”

He leans forward and places his head in his hands. A lock of hair falls out of place and Zelda brushes it back. 

She pets his head in what she hopes is a reassuring gesture. “Hilda believes we are magical. She thinks we cannot be stripped of our powers, therefore killing Him will not harm our magic. She thinks He can harm us in other ways, how we can all harm one another, witch to witch, but no more than that.”

He looks up, his face resting in his hands, “But I took your magic from you both for the trial, you aged — weren’t you without powers?”

This, too, has been on her mind. If he was able to strip their powers, even at the direction of Satan, then surely any one of them could do it. 

“Hilda doesn’t believe so. She believes it was an illusion. A glamour to age us, to make us look and feel weak, to make us think we lost our powers. You know Hilda though, she’s never been a dedicated follower. She believes that she performed magic while supposedly without her powers. How did you take it? Was it a spell given to you by Him?”

He nods slowly, “Yes, I didn’t know of the spell. I’ve heard that it’s been used by other High Priests but I’ve had no use of it until recently.”

He looks anguished, “I’m sorry, I feel badly for having played my part.” He clears his throat and his eyes are unable to meet hers.

She waves her hand, “It doesn’t matter, if anything it’s helpful. Do you still remember it?”

He nods. 

“Then do it.” She’s nervous, more than she lets on but there must be a test. It must be her. 

“Zelda…” he starts.

“Faustus, it must be you. You know the incantation, you’ve done it before, you’re the High Priest, and were you given the counter spell?” 

He nods, “Fine.” He’s angry at being asked, she can see; it’s a reminder that he’s done it before, of the circumstances that have led them here. 

Without preamble he brings his hand up to her hair at her temple and pulls hard. She yelps unexpectedly at the motion. She sees strands fisted in his hand, and he whispers the spell.

“I thought you needed a tooth?” She’s confused, and holds her hand to her head.

“No,” he laughs lightly, “it can be anything. You offered up your sister’s tooth yourself, my darling. I said a token. In the old days it used to be fingers. Harder to reattach though. Poor Hilda nonetheless.” And his face breaks into a smirk.

Her face breaks into a grin at how he let her offer up Hilda’s tooth. 

They sit in silence for a while waiting to see if it has worked. 

Eventually he breaks the silence. “Do you feel any differently? You look the same.”

She looks at her hands, it’s worked. They’ve aged slightly, more than she cares to see. She stands up, feels a slight ache, and makes her way to her coat. 

Faustus stands and follows her, she pulls a compact mirror from her pocket and inspects her face. “Yes, it’s worked.” She frowns at her image, and snaps the mirror shut. 

Faustus smiles at her, “Beautiful, as ever.” He’s still under the serum’s effects and she’s pleased that ageing, even imperceptibly, hasn’t swayed him. 

“Flirt.” She pokes a finger into his shoulder. “Test me.”

He walks to the back of the house and she follows, and out the door to the garden. They were here just last night and yet so much has changed since then. 

“I’ve pruned all of my roses. Make them grow back.” He spreads a hand out to show off his barren garden. 

“Faustus...this is hardly a test. It’s simple magic.”

“Yes, but it’s hard for someone supposedly without magic, dearest. Now fix the garden.” 

She rolls her eyes, “What color?” She still feels unsure but his flirtatious mood somehow bolsters her. Though she also feels his unease lying beneath the surface.

He pulls their joined hands up to his lips and kisses the inside of her wrist. “Lily white, to match your pallor.”

She feels herself blush at his affection. She’s not used to it, to him like this. She wonders if it’s the serum, spilling his heart, or if he is like this with her without the serum. If her saying yes to marrying him has changed him in some fundamental way. She’s anxious to find out.

She slips her hands from his and walks over to the chilled and barren ground. His roses are nothing but bare roots. She kneels, and places her hand on the cold soil and imagines a lush garden before her. The earth starts to warm below her hands. She feels her magic flowing through her, and while she’s never quite taken it for granted, it feels as if she’s experiencing it for the first time. She has a new found appreciation for her magic, and her abilities. Hilda was right. She wonders what else Hilda knows, and what else she’s right about.

She opens her eyes and Faustus’s garden is not only lush with creamy and pale roses but other flowers and plants too. She spies all of her favorites, myrtle, gardenias, honeysuckle, lilacs, lily flower. There’s a heat lingering in the garden, turning everything green and lush as if it were the height of spring again.

She’s torn, she wants to celebrate this small victory. A first step in a list of many to bring down the Dark Lord but her heart clenches at the lie. All of the lies. They've been dedicated servants, their whole lives, and now it’s nothing. Tears spring from her eyes, she can’t help it. She knew in her heart that her anger against the Dark Lord was real, and that she would do anything to protect her family, that He has taken things from her, from them but she’s also mourning the loss of the most intense and longest relationship she’s ever had. 

She feels Faustus come up behind her, his hand on her head, his deep voice whispering the counter spell, or rather, undoing the glamour. He moves in front of her, his shiny shoes sinking in the earth. He tilts her head up with a finger underneath her chin, his face etched in sadness as well. He understands. Of course he does. More than anyone.

He holds a hand out to her and she slips her hand in his, rises to her feet, and he leads them back inside the house. 

He’s silent as he leads her up the stairs, he presses a kiss to the back of her hand as they continue to climb, shoes clicking on marble. 

She feels heat radiating off of him, from anger, from grief. He’s all the things she is. He pins her against a door and she feels his hardness pressing into her. 

She had more questions but they’ve drifted away from her. What matters most is this. The very foundation on which they built their lives has been shaken fundamentally, and in the deep mourning of it, all Zelda can find is some absolution with her High Priest. Someone else who has known her throughout her long life, someone else who is mourning their life as they know it. Someone else wanting to build something new, together. 

His mouth is at her neck, biting down hard, and soothing the marks with his tongue. He pulls the hem of her dress up, and slips his fingers beneath her underwear and against her wet flesh. She can’t bite back the moan that escapes her, and Faustus moves to look in her eyes. He looks wild and out of control, which is how she feels though she doubts she looks it. His pupils are blown wide in pitch black hallway, blood, her blood, at his lips. 

His fingers continue to pump in and out of her in expert movements, his thumb on her clit, stroking her just how she likes it. Her muscles tighten around his fingers, and she’s so close. She pulls Fauatus’s face to hers and kisses him. His tongue slips against her and she tastes her sharp coppery blood on him. “Come for me, Zelda.” He breaks away, holds his hand at her face to keep her looking directly at him. His hands continue their movements and her eyes lock with Faustus’s as she comes hard on his fingers, gasping for air. Their labored breathing is the only sound in the house, and Faustus pulls his hand from her delicately, and she watches him clean his fingers with his mouth.

“Take me to bed, Faustus.” She’s greedy, she wants more but more than that she wants to give Faustus what he so desperately needs. She can see that something has broken inside him and she feels as if she’s the only one who can fix it. 

She turns and opens the door. She walks in as if it’s hers and stops at the foot of the bed to unzip her dress.

Faustus comes up behind her, quickly, to unzip her dress. She turns around and they quietly undress on another. He kisses her, picks her up in his arms and lays her in the middle of his bed. Her legs are spread wide, him settled between her, her arms open. His hardness is pressing into her hip, and she wants him inside her so desperately. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing measuredly. She cups his face, “I won’t break.” She slides her hand over his cock, and he pushes himself into her hand. She’s a little touched that he believes her to be delicate, despite their past history. 

“You aren’t marrying a nice girl, remember?” She pulls him down and kisses him hard, demanding. Her sharp teeth cut into his lip, and moans at the violence in it. 

He takes himself in hand and the tip of his cock rests just at her entrance. She rolls her hips to try to slip him inside her. He holds her hips in place, his fingers bruising. “I wonder if you can handle it.” 

She almost laughs at the thought but he slams into her without preamble. Despite how wet and ready she is for him, he sets a punishing pace. Her hips will be bruised purple tomorrow, and she will smile at the memory of it as she spots bruises shaped like his fingerprints when she looks in the mirror. 

He’s setting an unsustainable pace but there are no signs of him stopping. He’s panting in her ear, repeating her name like a prayer. His thumb is stroking her, and she’s close to shuddering an orgasm. His hands are locked on her wrists, tightly. More bruises, gloves tomorrow. 

His hard body above hers has a slight sheen to it, illuminating him in moonlight. He’s so beautiful in his turmoil, his eyes dark, and lost in hers. He lets her hands go and she moves them to his back, to hold him closer to her. She feels his muscles in his back ripple below her fingertips as they move together.

He adjusts their angle, and he’s hitting her right where she wants him. His fingers haven’t stopped their movements on her clit and she feels her orgasm building within her. Her stomach swoops at the feeling, and her head is starting to go fuzzy.

Faustus is panting above her, his eyes at her lips. His other hand hard at her breast, pinching her nipples, and her back arches off of the bed as she’s being pulled under as her orgasm takes her.

“Say it, say you’re mine.” He needs to hear it, she sees it in his face now. She never needed to doubt his loyalty. She realizes that she’s all he has, his refuge in a storm. 

“I’m yours,” she says, and he empties himself inside her, stilling eventually as they ride their orgasms out together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience as I wrote and rewrote this several times so I could get the tone I wanted for this. I hope you enjoy it. Many thanks to all of you for reading, following along, and, my favorite, commenting. Xx


	14. Unmasking

—

She’s laying against his chest in an afterglow she’s not had in ages. He wordlessly lit a fire in the grate of his bedroom, and their shadows dance along the walls as they softly speak of their plans. Her fingertips dance on the adornments of his chest. So much has changed in a small amount of time. She is tying herself to him, and even if they do break through these edicts and take down the Dark Lord, she still thinks this suits her. She wouldn’t have ever considered it if not for the new guidelines. But they’ve been dancing around one another for centuries, and she drew a line under it when he became a High Priest. 

She knew it was still Faustus, the Faustus of their youth, but the very title of his position felt as if she was doomed to meet her mother’s fate. She still might, though not the same way. If her life ends, now, soon, it will not be because of Faustus, it will be the Dark Lord himself. A small thrill and an ache bubbles up, at the same time. They could defeat Him, but at what price?

He eventually falls asleep, her gentle touches on his chest lulling him to sleep. His arm is wrapped around her and she tries her best to slip from him unnoticed but he stirs and pulls her closer. “Please stay,” he says, his eyes still closed. She doesn’t answer immediately. She’s not slept in the same bed as anyone, it’s an exceptionally vulnerable position. She prefers the comfort of her own bed, despite how cold it can feel sometimes.

He opens his eyes at the quiet, and pulls her hand in for a kiss. His lips linger over the back of her hand, “What do you want, Faustus?” He’s still under the effects of the truth serum and she’s curious to hear his answer.

“You.” It’s a simple answer and she’s surprised. Had it been any other point in their lives she would surely hear him say power, communing with the Dark Lord, becoming the Unholy Pope, anything other than her.

She barely stifles a laugh, “That’s it?” 

His eyes darken, “You’re everything, Zelda. I’ve wanted you for centuries. And to now have you in my bed, and to marry you means more than you could know. This moment has only clarified my feelings. Though I confess I feel as though I’ve lost my reasoning mind too.”

He’s honey-voiced in his answer and it pulls her under a spell, like it always does. He can only speak the truth and it’s moving her in a way she thought didn’t exist. He’s tearing down walls that she thought she built expertly. She feels as though she’s losing a piece of her vital self but she stands to gain something so much more. He’s so handsome in his earnestness and dedication.

She kisses him, hard, her tongue glides against his. An ache builds in her body, as if her lust hadn’t been sated less than an hour ago. A refractory period seemingly doesn’t exist for Faustus, he’s hard at her hip. She moves on top of him, his cock between them, and her hands move over his chest. “You can have me, Faustus. You just have to promise me something.” 

“Anything,” he grunts out. She’s rocking against him, and she relishes how quick his answer is. 

She lifts herself up, her hand gliding along his length at her entrance, teasing him, “Never lie to me.” 

She trusts him, if anything this night has shown her more sides of him that she thought previously impossible. But she wants him to fully understand this. The agreement between them. 

She slowly takes him inside her, feeling each inch of him as she settles on top of him. She balances her hands on his chest as she rocks slowly on top of him. His heart is pounding below her hand. “You can have all of me. If you want it.” She whispers it against his lips and his breath turns ragged as she continues riding him slowly. 

“I do,” he whispers at her lips. Her hands move to his throat and she can’t help but tighten them. He should know who he’s marrying. His breath sputters and she takes a delight in the power she has over him. If he wants her; then he can have it, the real her. She’s unmasking herself in front of him and his eyes sparkle at her despite her chokehold. She grinds harder into him. 

His hands move to her breasts and his movements are rough, palming her breasts and pinching her nipples. She’s sure he’ll blackout soon and the thought sends her a thrill because he’s clearly enjoying it, and she’s suddenly pulled under as Faustus pinches and twists her nipples, and pushes himself deeper into her. Her orgasm crashes over her and her hands loosen at his neck as he comes within her and gasps for air. Her rocking slows above him, savoring each wave that continues to flow over her. 

He smiles wickedly at her and she loves the bruises forming at his neck. She raises an eyebrow, “Thank goodness being a High Priest means all high collars and ascots.” 

He turns her hands in his. Her wrists are bright red from his grip and tomorrow she will relish the purple-blue of the bruises as she fastens her gloves. 

His voice is gravelly, lower than usual due to her cutting off his oxygen, “I can glamour these if you like.” She pulls them from his hands.

“Don’t you dare. I quite like them.” He’s still inside her and she rocks gently in response. 

She’s dedicated herself to being good, in whatever terms that means for a Satanist. She’s done all that’s asked of her but the dark streak that runs through her hasn’t been stamped out. It’s why when she feels out of control she lashes out and kills Hilda and buries her in the yard. She paid the price for killing her father (permanent, never to be resurrected). And she’s taken lovers here and there but never on a regular basis. Her porcelain skin suggests to lovers that she’s breakable and she’s treated with kid gloves. The caresses are nice but she doesn’t want nice. She wants to feel alive, she wants to exert control and leave her partner breathless and wanting. The bruises on her wrists prove to her that Faustus is a fair match. She wants a map of bruises in the shape of his fingertips across her body. She can feel the lingering pain of the ones on her hips.

She elegantly lifts herself off of him and he pulls her into his side yet again. She finds that she has no trouble falling asleep as his hand twirls through her hair holding her to him.

—

She wakes and it’s morning, early still. She curls into him, the room has gone cold when the fire died out. Last night they had settled that they would marry on the last day of the edict, he had so many weddings to preside over, and it would afford them time to plan a wedding befitting a High Priest. Someone would fly in from Rome to perform the ceremony, a cardinal maybe. She had much to do in little time with Faustus busy and trying to keep tabs on Sabrina. She pulls away from him gently, only to have him grab her arm at the last minute. 

“Leaving so soon?” His smile glitters in the early morning light bleeding from the edges of the drapes. He knows she’s been here much longer than she planned. 

“I have a wedding to plan, or had you forgotten?” His grip tightens around her wrist, it aches painfully, wonderfully. 

“How could I forget?” He smiles a genuine smile, and she basks in it. He lets her wrist go, and she silently redresses as Faustus watches her from the bed. She takes her time, enjoying his eyes.

She walks to the side of the bed and kisses him primly before she leaves to share her good news with the rest of the family.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’re enjoying the story thus far. All of my thanks to everyone reading, leaving kudos, and posting comments. It really makes my day to read messages and comments. As a reminder, you can find me on tumblr at SpellwoodManor. Xx


	15. A Visitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Fertility, Infertility, Rape, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Underage Rape, the list goes on. Consider yourself warned. I'm giving a strong warning for this and the next chapter. I've never written a warning on my fics before but I wanted to here, just to be safe. If you would like a brief summary of this in a glossed over way, message me on Tumblr (SpellwoodManor).

They’ve been waiting for what feels like hours. She should have known that this wouldn’t come quickly. Or at all. Her fingers are full of energy, giving her away, her nerves. She’s often a good mask of feelings but tonight is different.

Hilda is sitting on the bed fidgeting in her own Hilda way, kicking her legs about, trying to fill up the silence with words.

It’s all gone so quickly, the past several weeks. They’ve been filled with weddings. Every eligible member of the coven and the Academy had been married off. Faustus presiding over them all. 

Faustus announced the news of their engagement, and it was met well by most of the Academy. Some witches and wizards secretly held out hope for either Zelda or Faustus to pick them. There were days and events with various wizards and witches vying for attention and a chance but it didn’t escape anyone’s notice how Faustus lingered over his wife-to-be during morning assemblies. Classes had taken up a fair amount of their time too. Zelda taught several classes again at the Academy, which was a change of pace but welcomed. Teaching students was what she was good at, and she thinks that it had perhaps become even easier with Sabrina having tested her patience for the last decade. Sabrina.

Sabrina had been unhappy with the news. Unhappy was an understatement. But there was nothing to be done. 

Prudence, however, embraced the match — soon they would both become Blackwoods. Prudence beamed at her during classes and coven events in the following weeks. She’s most likely tied her new good fortune to Zelda, though Zelda feels the same way. They’ve saved one another. Prudence glows under Zelda’s compliments, now having a mother figure in her life for the first time. Zelda happily added another child to her family, a bright spot in the strange turn of affairs. She can’t help but feel a sense of comfort settle over her when Prudence is so attentive and wanting of her approval during classes. 

Hilda bubbled with excitement with the wedding ahead of them, and to have Faustus on their side. Hilda threw around the word happy quite a bit, and though Zelda would never admit to it, she found that it fit. They’ve settled into a routine that suits them. 

She’s not spent a night apart from him. Her days are a mix of classes and wedding planning. At the end of it she comes home with Faustus, and so far her lust has yet to abate. He whispers dirty things to her in his elegant voice. They’re the picture of propriety in the light of day. The High Priest and his fiancée — all high collars, layers of fabric, gloves, and the like, hiding what they’re really like from the rest of their world. Witches aren’t exactly a tame species but she knows they have their own brand of darkness churning within them.

The Unholy Pope himself arrived in Greendale just this evening --- his kiss to her hand rather obscene. Though Zelda knows her affect and there’s a part of her that preens in the attention, that it hasn’t abated as she’s grown older. If anything, it’s increased. At this moment, it feels terribly cursed. The Unholy Pope’s arrival is a gift from the Dark Lord. The coven is all married off, easily so. He was also so pleased at Faustus for keeping the Spellmans so close in his grasp. If He only knew.

The news of the Unholy Pope’s arrival is met with excitement. Excitement flows through the air, everyone high on being so close to someone so Unholy. The new edict had been met with approval from all the students and coven members. Satanists somehow took direction extremely well, and now that she’s on the other side of it, Zelda sees that He is no better than the false God. Two masters who demand dedication and servitude.

Dedication and servitude. Her chest tightens at the thought. Hilda is saying something to her as time continues to pass, the clock ticks constantly as her brain churns with images from the weeks they’ve burned through so quickly.

They’ve not spoken about, they’ve avoided it entirely. Neither her nor Faustus willing to speak the words out loud, as if avoiding it in conversation will let them avoid it in reality. The truth is she doesn’t know if the Dark Lord will visit her the night before the wedding. No one does. By all outright appearances, Zelda is a dedicated witch. She still prays to Him morning and night, there had been no obvious break in her dedication other than the one in her heart. Had it been any other time, the idea of it would set her body alight at having pleased Him enough for a visitation. But now she’s keenly aware of the terror that flows through her. 

In the end, despite Hilda being unable to act as her Maid of Honor, Zelda asked her to attend to her. Asking Sabrina was out of the question.. Sabrina already didn’t understand the Path of Night and she couldn’t trust that Sabrina wouldn’t barge in with some scheme. Mostly though, it was her job to protect Sabrina. Ambrose. Prudence. Even her sister, despite her asking to attend her. She was responsible for them, she would not burden Sabrina with such a task. She would do whatever she could to protect her. Them. She hoped they would forgive them. She has plans of her own.

—

The number of babies she’s delivered is staggering. She lost count in her head but of course she has a registry of all of their names and birthdays. Almost every day, a birthday. She’s a testament to her work, she’s never lost a baby. Midwifery isn’t for the faint of heart, though it’s seen as a womanly art. There’s an assumption of tenderness when it comes to delivering and caring for children. Yes, it’s soft, warm, and nurturing but so many times the delivery is anything but. There have been hard deliveries, so many that Zelda was specifically sought out for. So many ending in the swiftness of Zelda’s hand on a scalpel, delivering the babe via caesarean. It is a gross oversight to underestimate women, their work, their life giving abilities. With every new life, a new death is created. Men underestimate women, time and time again. Warlocks with witches. And, Zelda hopes, Satan and herself.

She’s not sure He will visit. Her mind whispers this to her on repeat as she makes her secret plans. He may not visit, as she sharpens her dagger. He may not visit, as she memorizes the prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel. He may not visit, as she attaches the dagger to the back of the headboard in her bedroom at the Academy. He may not visit, as she writes a note to Faustus. He may not visit, as she hugs Sabrina goodnight. He may not visit, as she looks at Hilda talking about tomorrow’s wedding with excitement.

He may not visit, He may not visit, He may not visit...as the room goes dark. She’s frozen for a quick moment, and then presses a creamy envelope to Hilda as she guides her from the room, and wards the door. 

She kneels at the end of the bed, facing away from Him. This is what it has come to. She’s in a unique position to end this all, but first she must play her part. She had hoped He wouldn’t come, that she could figure out another plan with Faustus and Hilda. But this is a unique position, one she cannot give up despite all of its implications. 

The room smells of brimstone, the terrible sulphuric smell of Hell. His footsteps are loud, she’s doing her best to stay still -- remembering her place, her mindset, a bride on the eve before her wedding, a devout witch filled with happiness to receive such an unholy blessing to be visited by the Devil himself. His large hand wraps around her shoulder, and despite herself, a tear falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter. I wrote it and rewrote it many times. I hope this helps me get over my issues with writing recently, and I'm able to update more frequently now that I've posted this.
> 
> I debated on whether to continue writing the story. I'm terribly thankful for all of you who reached out to encourage me. Thank you. xx
> 
> Also, if you're not into Spellwood, that's fine. This story isn't for you. If you aren't into the themes I'm writing about, totally fine too. There are so many other fics out there.


	16. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Fertility, Infertility, Rape, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Underage Rape, the list goes on.

___

Faustus is doing his best keeping his mind on the conversation at hand. His Unholy Eminence is clearly in the mood to celebrate all of the good news. He’s several drinks in, and is making a slight fool of himself but surely he will retire to his rooms soon. Faustus needs the distraction. In quiet moments he thinks of Zelda, is she alone? Will she be visited? Is Hilda keeping watch over her? His mind wanders as he smiles politely at His Unholiness. Luckily, he’s heard this story dozens of times over the years so he knows when to laugh. A rapid knock at the door interrupts the lewd story, and while Ambrose was supposedly guarding the door, he’s glad for a respite. Sabrina storms in, face angry, not unlike how she normally looks at him. 

“I would like to speak to my aunt, please.” She throws in the “please” when she notices His Unholiness; Faustus’s station didn’t even afford him her pleasantries. Ambrose follows her and offers Faustus a light shrug of apology. Sabrina, like her aunt, was determined, Faustus understood the futility.

His Unholiness rises from his seat, glass in hand, “Well, well, Faustus, was this a treat for me?”

Ambrose’s eyes widen, and Sabrina looks at Faustus in confusion, and continues on, “Where is Aunt Zelda?”

The Unholy Pope laughs, “This ravishing young thing is your fiancee's niece? My, my, Faustus, how lucky are you? My dear girl, your aunt isn’t here. Of course she isn’t. Why would she be? She’s participating in a time honored tradition on the night before her wedding. Lucky devil. Wish it were me. Come, sit by me, and I shall keep you company.” 

Faustus’s stomach churns, bile rising to his throat. Of course Sabrina sees them all as barbarians, how could she not?

Sabrina visibly recoils and Faustus hopes His Excellency has had enough drinks to later forget this entire conversation. He offers a tight smile to His Excellency, and places himself between him and Sabrina. “Yes, Father of Fathers, dear Sabrina is one of our most promising pupils, we are eagerly awaiting her dark baptism.” He hopes His Unholiness understood the quiet point he was making.

The Unholy Pope was about to speak again when yet another commotion at the door stopped him. Hilda appeared, looking upset. Zelda. He feels his heart sink, and it feels incredibly difficult to breath.

His Unholiness breaks the brief silence, “I see you are busy with your family, Faustus. I shall take my leave. It’s such a shame Zelda couldn’t have joined us. I look forward to seeing her tomorrow.” He winks, drains his drink, and Ambrose escorts him out. 

___

The hand on her shoulder digs into her flesh, and despite the tear she’s somehow able to keep it together. She was steely. The Dark Lord’s breath was loud above her head. This was the stuff of nightmares. His gruff voice calls out, “Rise, Sister Zelda.” She slowly rises to her feet, and the Dark Lord walks around her. She doesn’t meet his eyes, but sees his hooved feet in front of her. She feels her body shake, she tries to stop it but it’s out of her control entirely.

He brings a finger under her chin to lift up her face to his and he’s transformed from beast to man, or angel, as it were. He’s beautiful. Too beautiful for someone...something so terrible. Sabrina was right, this was evil. Their religion wasn’t about choice, or freedom, this was about control. There’s no more a prime example of this than this moment.

“My favorite acolyte.” His voice is velvety, his hands caress her shoulders and arms. “No one could deserve a visit more than you. What a lucky witch.” He smiled, and she kept her head bowed to not meet his eyes any more than she had to.

His hand pets her hair, his fingers curling around a lock as he looks her over. “For someone so beautiful I thought perhaps my original form might suit you better.”

She looks at her hands clasped in front of her, “You honor me. I am not worthy.” 

He laughs and tugs a strand of her hair in his fingers, “I’ll be the judge of that. Do you know how many prayers I heard in your name recently? So many coven members had hoped to marry you, hoped I might hear their prayers, and answer them with you. Of course, I see the appeal.” His hand snakes down from her hair to her neck, his fingertips gliding along her collarbone. “Lucky Faustus. My two most devoted followers.”

He turns and moves to the bed, settling himself at the headboard. Zelda isn’t sure she should follow him or wait. She chooses waiting. She feels his eyes on her, studying her. She feels exposed though she’s still wearing her nightgown and robe.

“You would wait there all night, wouldn’t you, Zelda? You wouldn’t move without me asking you. Such a good girl. You’ve learned so much in these years. Learned how to follow directions. We had a bit of an issue in the past but you’ve been so good since. So good, I feel I must reward you.”

She’s still staring at her hands, the prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel had not been difficult to memorize. She’d rather trade in all her years as a Satanist to this last desperate plea to vanquish Satan once and for all. She’s not naive enough to assume Hell crumbles without Satan, she knows how the realms work. But her personal vendetta is against Him and Him alone. Hell will remain, someone else at the helm. Anyone, she thinks, would be better, and likely, less interested in the meddling of witch affairs. Humans were far more fun.

Her dagger is attached to the back of the headboard where He’s currently resting, it would be a quick silent spell to guide it in her hand, but she needs a moment where she’s positioned well enough to drive it deep into his chest. The thought of killing him brings a slight smile to her face, the excitement of it, and somehow the surety that she would be successful, helps her pretend she’s glad to have the Dark Lord on a bed before her. How lucky she is, indeed.

She doesn’t know how she found herself sitting at the foot of the bed, Satan staring at her. 

Apparently he liked to take his time, play with his food. That was fine by her, the prayer ran through her head, she would say it out loud when the time came. It did feel like a comfort to her, maybe she was going soft in her old age. She would get her family out of this.

He moves in a flash, and presses her back into the bed. His lips are on hers, and for someone who spends so much time in Hell, his lips and his body feels cold to the touch. Like a corpse. She kisses him back, fully invested in her strategy. He pulls away briefly and caresses her face. “Another generation of Spellwood women. Somehow you’re more beautiful than your mother. I remember her wedding eve well.” If she wasn’t already planning on killing him, this would have done it. She sees red, and her body fills with rage.  
___

Faustus is left with the angry face of Sabrina, and the unusually pale face of Hilda. He doesn’t even know where to begin. He wishes he had imbibed more suddenly -- could slip into a fuzzy place where this wasn’t his current reality, that he could forget that all of this was happening but it wouldn’t have been fair. It already was so unfair for Zelda. 

Hilda closes the door, and Sabrina practically screams, “What was that all about? Who does he think he is? Where is Aunt Zelda? What time honored tradition? And where were you?” She turns to Hilda. Hilda looks grim, but offers nothing but a false cheery smile in the face of it.

They had all agreed to keep this from Sabrina. It was one thing to sign your name to the Book of the Beast but it was certainly another to explain that the time-honored ritual in question was the possibility of being raped by the Devil himself. Another thing entirely. “Your aunt is in her rooms here at the Academy, and must not be interrupted. She needs her sleep.”

Hilda shares a look with Faustus, and Sabrina cocks her head to the side. “What is it? What are you two keeping from me? Tell me. What’s this?” She points to the note in Hilda’s hand.

“It’s a note for Father Blackwood, from Zelda. It isn’t for you, miss. Now get back to the dormitory. You need your sleep. I will see you tomorrow.” 

Faustus smirked, enjoying Sabrina being put back in line after all of her cheek. She slowly saunters out of his rooms, and hears Ambrose admonishing her as well.

Hilda’s deep frown has returned and hands Faustus the envelope. He runs his hands over it, there’s a faint smell of Zelda’s perfume on it, and he remembers what’s occurring only several rooms over. He pours a glass out for himself and Hilda. He feels cowardly, there’s nothing to be done. They’ve not yet found a solution to his downfall, and all they can do is wait. 

“I couldn’t wait there, outside the door. I’m sorry to say it but I couldn’t hear it happen. I’ll go back soon and tend to her but I hope you understand.” Hilda is looking into the fire, unable to meet his eyes. 

He’s staring at the flames dancing in the grate as well, “Of course I do. I couldn’t bear it either.” He’s failed her, all of them. There was a good chance that Satan wouldn’t visit Zelda, it was a rare practice. Many coven members bragged of the Dark Lord visiting them, but it was just another way to inflate one’s status. Now that He’s here, there’s nothing to be done. Not without instant death, and then there would be no way to vanquish Him once and for all. Zelda was the price to pay to keep everyone else safe. Time and time again she paid. It was excruciating to wait, quietly, with Hilda when they were the only two who knew just what was happening.

He turned the envelope over and slipped the letter from it. Her familiar inky black scrawl danced across the pages. 

She’s brief. “Faustus, You will understand better than anyone. Why I had to. I hope it’s enough. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this; that we could have done this together. I hoped that we could have had more time. I care for you...I am afraid to write the stronger word. Please take care of my family. Yours, Zelda”

His heart is beating rapidly, he looks to Hilda in a panic. He hands her the card and paces quickly as Hilda reads.

Consequences be damned. He storms from the rooms, Hilda barely able to catch up. His mind races, he has no plan whatsoever. Zelda’s name runs through his mind. She’s all he can think of.

The doors to her room have been opened, and he’s unsure of what will await him.

___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience all of these months. I decided to update early as a thank you. I really appreciate all of the comments and messages for this story. Truly. 
> 
> Happy Holidays to you and yours! Wishing you a safe holiday season. Xx


	17. Details

___

Sabrina must have arrived only a second before him, trailed by Hilda. Sabrina calls out, “Auntie Zee.” Her voice is trembling, Faustus can’t blame her, Sabrina knows she shouldn’t be here but she’s always been curious through and through. There’s movement on the bed. The crack of light from the doors illuminates a man on the bed, above Zelda, presumably.. The man turns towards the door, his face handsome despite its cruel smile, and disappears in a flash. There’s no movement on the bed. Faustus as well as Hilda and Sabrina stand stock still. No one wanted to move, to see what lay before them. Seconds pass.

Zelda sits up, sheets clutched to her chest, pale face outraged, “What in heaven are you doing in here, Sabrina?” Her mood is quick to haughty, as though the tender note in his hand was written by someone else entirely. Someone not about to kill the Dark Lord, and possibly sacrifice herself in the process all for the sake of Sabrina, standing at the foot of her bed.

Sabrina, no surprise, matches her aunt. “Who was that?! You’re supposed to get married tomorrow!” Hilda steps forward sensing Sabrina was best left to her, she grabs Sabrina’s shoulder and harshly whispers to her as she pulls her out of the room. The doors slam behind them, and the room is again shrouded in darkness save a few still lit candles.

He walks carefully to the side of the bed and Zelda lays back against the headboard, quiet. She doesn’t look at him, “It would have worked. I was almost there. Had I not been interrupted I would have been able to take care of this once and for all.” 

The adrenaline of it all hasn’t worn off, minutes ago she was preparing for her death and now she’s sitting here, prone. Useless. Similar to how he feels. Zelda likes a plan, a schedule, knowing what to expect. Even if knowing what to expect was ugly and painful; rather than plans falling to the wayside. 

His voice is quiet, “Are you hurt?” It’s a terrible question to ask. Of course she’s hurt. Hurt in too many ways to count. “Physically.” He adds to be clear, if she needs immediate tending to. 

“No.” She huffs it out. “He barely touched me. I’m fine.” She just edges out the last sentence before she stifles a sob, and brings her hands to her face. She’s seemingly trying to gain some composure in front of him despite the circumstances. To assure him that she’s okay but he isn’t the one who needs reassurance.

He moves onto the bed and pulls her into his side as she continues to cry. Her whole body shakes with sobs and he smoothes her hair down her back.

____

Everything felt as if it were falling apart. She’s doing her best to put one foot in front of the other but every time she feels thwarted. She’s expected to keep a smile on her face, and keep her family in line but it’s starting to wear on her. Sabrina. The dark baptism. The marriage edict. The following one. This night. She had been looking forward to the wedding, truth be told. Hilda had outdone herself with her dress. But her mind churned in the background, reminding her of the possibility of this night. She planned secretly, hoping at any moment for a new plan to come to fruition with Hilda and Faustus. She remembered what Hilda said about their power, that He couldn’t take it away from them. She felt like her inherent magic would be able to save them, her full belief in her plan, even if the plan was good or not, would have worked -- had she been given the chance. And she could have saved all of them from this, and now she has nothing to offer.

Faustus is quiet and comforting, she expected him to be angry with her. She’s used to that reaction, used to the yelling, the defending of her position. Her years with Sabrina have given her practice. Her sobs eventually subside, and he redresses her quietly and walks her to his rooms. He pulls back the sheets, settles her in, and leaves the room to ready for bed. He comes back, holding a glass of whiskey. She sips it quietly. There scarcely has been a night, if any, that they have shared a bed without having sex first. It had been the easiest way to slip into a routine, so used to fucking over the years and a smooth transition to sleeping together. Now she sits here unsure of what exactly to do, and unsure of how Faustus feels. It eats away at her more than it should.

She sets her drink on the nightstand and finds Faustus looking at her, his face serious. “I love you, Zelda. I meant what I said before, I’m going to kill Him. We will figure this out together but I will kill him for all that He’s done.”

He lifts up her hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. She feels more hot tears fall down her face, and he pulls her to him. His arms wrap around her and she feels that despite there being no concrete plan, she believes him. Faustus, like her, means what he says, and relief flows through her. She’ll continue to be the strong one for the family but she no longer has to do it alone, and she feels the burden lessening inside her. As though she can breathe a little easier.. They’ll get their moment, it’s only a matter of time. Everything else is just details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for a shorter chapter but I wanted to get something out sooner rather than later. Thank you for reading this story and engaging with it. It means a lot to me. Xx

**Author's Note:**

> A little story before the final season arrives. I’ll update this story weekly. I’ll finish my one shots soon and post them as well. Thank you for sticking with me, reading these stories, and commenting. What a treat of a fandom this has been. Xx


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